Shallow Divide
by upyouralley
Summary: [Set several months previous to the events of the Outsiders] Constance Winston is a goddamn 8 year secret. The divide between Soc and grease is widening, and being a recently infamous middle-class member of society, she has to take a side. All the people in her life are divided, when will she be torn apart? [the Outsiders belongs to the spectacular S.E. Hinton. *sigh*]
1. Chapter 1: A Hard Days Night

_**A hard day's night**_

_**[A/N: I do not own the outsiders, unfortunate, I know.]**_

_**[Reviews, Criticism, Witticism, even Requests! All wanted by me] **_

Two hardworking men of the Tulsa, Oklahoma DX Gasoline Station (east-side establishment) had had almost all they could take of convenience store fare. They had worked hard for their weekly pay, today perhaps being the hardest. No more would two male adolescents try to chip the constant ache of teenage hunger with candy bars and kettle cook's. Though just 16 and 17 respectively, they needed the food of a man…something of the grill variety. These two boys were in luck however, for just across the street was a newly minted diner. One with rollerblading waitresses to boot.

As they approached their oasis, they began to make a bet. For two hoods in their element, a little gamble was pure sport. It began when they both caught sight of a pretty skirt gliding past the window.

"Steve, I have a mighty fine proposal for ya'" Spoke one, his golden hair gleamed and his brown eyes shone with mischievous warmth as they followed the skating waitress. The others attention perked, and his hands fiddled in his pocket. Steve's hair was less slick with more dark, nearly charcoal, and his eyes were the very same but with a hard steel dullness.

"Soda, I'm up for it all as long as I get some grub." Steve Randle the dark said with a smirk. He was actually fairly excited for some stakes to be raised, but didn't voice it too much (didn't want to sound like damn Pony).

Sodapop Curtis the gold quickened his pace to keep up with Steve's long strides. The former was a head shorter than the latter, but infinitely more handsome and charming. It almost (but not quite) evened things out.

"Well there Stevie, I know as good as you only one of us should have the privilege to eat free for a meal…And flirt with that doll waitress." He added with a wink. "So I say we cut a deal. Whoever reaches that door first gets free food, and a wingman."

* * *

The race began, and with the diner being just across and up the street a bit from the DX, it was a short one. Badly patched chucks slapped the asphalt with determination. You'd think that the brother of Track Star Ponyboy Curtis could pull a lead based off pure genetics, but that one head of height (and inevitable leg length) difference was the nail in Soda's coffin. Mr. Randle reached the deco-handle at least 50 yards ahead of the unfortunately short Mr. Curtis.

* * *

Steve at least had the sportsman like conduct to hold the door open for a huffing and puffing Sodapop. Soda was so put out by his defeat though that he swore a blue streak at poor Randle, who in turn cussed him out to the moon and back. You'd suppose two young men would think twice before taking up dirty talk in a diner, but these guys were greasers. They only had so many standards. Thankfully, those standards were high enough that they found the decency to clean the talk as the young waitress they had bartered for skated up.

At the notice of her approach, both Soda and Steve slid roughly into the glossy red vinyl booths. They barely glanced at the menu before they started taking her in with hungry, vaguely hormonal, eyes.

* * *

She was on the short side of average height, even on her blades, a fine tallness for 15 or so, but not by much. Her hair was long and smooth, tamed, but there was far too much of it for it to hold any style. The only adornment on this head of thick, straight hair was a navy blue bandana pushing it back from her forehead, and the colour itself. Not blonde by any stretch, yet not brunette either, it was what they could only think of as golden brown like a piece of warm toast. The shine and soft scent was mighty irresistible, even considering the complete lack of curl. Her face was framed well by this, pretty and doll-like. She had big eyes, long lashes, darkly arched brows, a ski-slope nose, and pearly cupids-bow lips. Each feature was pretty but not special, together they were beautiful in a simple, elegant form. For example, her eyes were not 'striking' or her smile 'stunning'. Her eyes were clear in a contradicting shade of dirty green (decidedly not 'bright' or 'sparkling') and though she had decent teeth she never showed them in a smile (certainly not 'mega-watt' or 'gorgeous'). Her body was not rail thin nor was it wonderfully curved. Her chest was just the size to ensure her second shirt button could never stay closed for more than three minutes (not a blessing, more like a mild annoyance), her hips would always feel too wide, and her shoulders too round. The only thing she was proud of in way of figure (so to speak) was her always available shoe size and the ability to stand adequately straight (good posture is quite the hit when trying to impress authority). Of course, the boys in the booth did not think so deeply (more along the lines of "Gosh, she's pretty-wish I won that stupid bet-" and "I'm sure glad stupid made up this awesome bet!"). They would soon think on the aforementioned appearance with greater detail, but at the moment, the waitress was looking particularly irked by their attentions.

* * *

She looked down at their glazing eyes with contempt. It had been a long day for her too, and only five minutes stood between her and the end of a 9 o'clock shift. But first these idiots had to order, eat, and get out. The freckles on her nose (giving it a perpetual tan on an otherwise god awful pale complexion) got lost in skin folds as she scrunched it upwards, rightfully irritated. Glancing had turned to staring and it had been going on for an uncomfortable 30 seconds. She cleared her throat a little, pulled a pen from behind her ear and tapped it on the notebook peeking out of her apron. She was putting on a stance of impatience but they didn't seem to get the hint. Ripping the pad of paper from by her waist and raising it in front of her face she asked the question she had been trying to get them to answer for the past minute or so.

"Are you wanting a drink to start?" she said for the second time loudly. Her nerves were shot and her temper was already ticking. Seeing her dishevelled look the boys should have known better than to ignore her once again.

"We'll come back to that. What's your name doll?" Soda asked innocently with his best southern swagger.

"You was supposed to be helping me to the goods, not yourself Soda!" Steve shrieked leaning over to take a swipe at the still smiling Sodapop.

The waitress's eyes flashed as some very un-ladylike terms for these two hoodlums crossed he mind. Her feet ached and her baby blue button-down-dress uniform was starting to itch. She was too tired to bat away the flirtations, so she answered his question and posed hers once more.

"Constance Winston. Now, would y'all like some drinks or not?" Constance said through gritted teeth. Her voice was sweet but clearly strained, a city accent with a southern belle lilt near the ends now had an aggressive touch.

Soda could see they were fast on their way to losing any possible interest they may gain. Patience and obedience was now key.

"Sure doll, two cokes please, in the bottles no glasses. We won't be needin' no ice either, we ain't that classy." He said with another grin.

In about as long as it takes to make your mind up about someone, Constance dropped two Coke's on the table with a thunk.

"Are y'all ready to order?" She asked, Steve popped open his coke. It was as cold as her voice. He took a big swig preparing to say something smart when Soda had a realization.

"Hey, you say your last name's Winston?"

She nodded.

"Boy howdy! You don't happen to know a Dally Winston? Dallas, that is." He said, eye's up and bright.

Constance coughed and rolled her strained eyes.

"Well I ought to, him being my brother and all."

She said that last part absent-mindedly, too exhausted to consider these greasers would care much (or even react for that matter).

But react they did.

Steve sputtered Coke in more than a fine mist all over her apron, and Soda's eyes were busting their sockets. A million questions on his tongue, and he still managed that stupid grin.

Noticing their mind-blown expressions, Constance supposed that perhaps they were acquainted with Dallas. She also judged from their surprise that he had never once mentioned his sister Constance, or even a sibling at all! But she knew this, though they seemed harmless enough (greasers be greasers) Dallas had done everything in his power to ensure they never met.

"So, are ya ready to order?" Constance said with no subtlety that they better be.

They were still gawking, mouths open and eyes agog. Minds whirling, they searched every corner of memory for any talk of a Winston sister.

"Listen kids." She sighed shortly. "I'd love to tell the tale of Dallas Winston and Co., but at this in-opportune moment I gotta serve you and send ya home, and then take a hike there myself. So until you leave I'm stuck. Order or don't, just please leave in the next quarter hour."

They snapped from their reverie, a cohesive thought now forming in Soda's delinquent brain.

"I have an idea Constance, but first, can I call you Connie? -easier on my tongue ya see- any who, Connie it's an idea for the ages. We'll leave now, but you gotta come with, you see, we're gonna give ol' Dally-Cat the shock of a lifetime!" Soda looked up at her expectantly.

"Well, now what's in it for me?" She responded raising her eyebrows, asking, hands perched on hips.

"Doll, this'll be so good I'm willing to pay for your involvement!" Soda practically screeched.

"Do I look like a street-corner lady? I'll do it for free. It's about time Dallas learned who was the better Winston." The rebel smirk gave way more than a hint of the relation.

* * *

The two boys sucked down their Cokes eagerly as Constance skated into the back to change up. She peeled off her rollerblades, the sweat and grime leaving her feet feeling raw, and yanked her hair from its blue bandana confinement. It pooled over her shoulders, more than a little frizzy from deep fryer steam and Oklahoma humidity. She felt less than fit for meeting people and their moods, least of all her brother's wrath, yet the temptation of cracking the stony façade of Dallas was far too compelling. She left her uniform on, popping in that pesky button, and walked barefoot, saddle-shoes in hand, into the dusty Tulsa parking lot.

* * *

The only truck left in the lot stood quivering, ready to run. It was a maroon coloured thing, polished like a beauty but not without its rust. Both Steve and Soda were leaning against its bed looking tough with Soda's upturned collar and risky expression, and Steve's mouth, lazy with a cigarette and eyes cold with a screaming 'come at me, if ya dare'. Their hands were shoved into their pockets as they stared down the street. No one was there, but a greaser can never be caught off guard looking anything but dangerous. Heads turned at the sound of her padding feet and shifting dress.

"That's what I don't get about you greasers, no one around to touch ya but you still wanna look untouchable." Connie said with a shake of her head and another hard Dally smirk.

"Can't be caught looking pansy, 'specially not now a days. Them Socs are gettin' cockier, they'll jump anyone who's not on the lookout." Steve said on the defensive, he put his weed out on the fender of the pickup, then ground it into the pavement for good measure.

Soda looked at her with agreement to Steve's argument, she couldn't be sure, but perhaps a look of honest worry was there. Even if for just a second.

"So, where are we headed?" Connie drawled trying to diffuse the tension. She always had a way of making situations more awkward than need be. "Are you sure Dallas'll be there? I may need the protection 'round you two greasers." She winked. Sure Dallas was a grease too, but he was one that actually gave a hang about her wellbeing no matter how he tried to hide it.

"My house." Said Soda, all tenseness gone from his expression. "And sure he'll be there, he gotta eat don't he? This close to a rumble I bet he do!" He exclaimed, followed by a nervous laugh. Now Soda didn't know that for a fact, sometimes he could go weeks without seeing Dally touch a bite, but now it was a few days before the rumble. Surely he'd be wantin' his strength.

Constance gave that some thought as Steve helped her haul into the cab. Socs and rumbles. Rich kids and brawls. It made sense that Dallas would be wanting her to steer clear, but eight years was long enough. Eight years in Tulsa from New York not knowing where he slept half the time? Sure meeting up with him seemed like a joke to the guys, but to her it was also important. She needed to prove to big brother just how capable she could be in a block-away neighbourhood.

The truck lurched as Steve pulled out into the street, but ran smooth. He looked over at her.

"You been living in Tulsa the whole time? I never even seen ya before. You a Soc or something?" He looked genuinely confused.

"Call me middle-class, it's what everyone else does. But the truth? I'm just as greasy as you guys. Don't tell Dallas though. He's been trying hard to keep me from it." Connie chuckled softly. "Ya'll wanna hear the story loud and clear? It's short and none too sweet…"

Both boys nodded eagerly, Sodapop even leaned in from the backseat to her shotgun spot out of attentiveness.

"'Bout eight years ago, Dally and I were roaming New York City. Mom left when we was kids, and Dad moved us out later. Well, to be completely honest, we ran like hell. Dad was a constantly present dead-beat. Always there but doin' nothin'. We didn't plan much. I put on my sweet thing voice over the phone to our Oklahoma aunt and uncle. They let us in. They didn't like Dallas though, not one bit. He left, I stayed. He made his own way, only came to sleep and snack a couple a nights out of a week. We talk all the time, never lost touch over those eight years. He made me swear up and down that I wouldn't go lookin' for him though. Even convinced auntie to put me in a uniform catholic school to avoid me ever meetin' his gang! I live in a less Socy neighbourhood, but a nice one at that. Not too far from here, 'bout a block or so." She said pointing out the cool window at the Curtis's street. "I ain't allowed to walk passed Hydrangea Boulevard back there lest I come across a grease in his territory. He looks out for me I guess, but I'm too damn sheltered! I need to learn about life, not everyone wears a uniform." She tugged at the end of hers, ending the tale.

It was short and hurried. Once again Constance had the knack of making the group fall silent in uncomfortable thought. It wasn't sad really, just uncertain and odd. Dallas was a lone ranger as far as Soda, and Steve, and the rest of the gang were concerned. Thinking of him going to such lengths for protecting someone was a foreign idea concerning Dally, especially when the thing protected from seemed so trivial.

"I just don't quite understand what he fears for ya, are gang ain't so bad. We ain't nearly as hoody as the Sheppard's or even the Brumley outfit." Soda nearly whispered. Her words had hurt almost as much as if Dallas had spoken them himself. "But we got a prank to pull nonetheless." His grin returned. Never one to stay down was that Sodapop.

Steve pulled himself from daydreams of New York City, and young Dally warning off the Curtis gang.

"I'd say he deserves it even more now. A goddamn eight year secret you are Constance!" Noticing his use of harsh language in front of a lady, Steve flushed, but of course a sister of Dallas would have a little immunity. Despite this, the conversation had turned a little too emotional for Steve and he turned to stone, doing a sharp turn right up to the Curtis brother's door.

Soda hopped out, opened Connie's door, and helped her teeter onto the gravel. The small stones bit her feet's arch, but she just chewed her lip and picked a path to the well-kempt screen door. For such a ratty lil' place everything sure seemed to be in working order. She raised her fist to knock, but Soda just shouldered through. Steve was halfway following before he remembered the attention he was trying to earn. Just in time he caught the door with his heel, propping it open and preventing Constance from getting a busted nose on her first visit.

Steve held her up before she entered.

* * *

"First ya should know a thing or too. There's a couple 'a other sleazy grease types joining us in this little abode, Two-Bits downright dopey so watch-out, Johnny may not speak to you so don't be offended, Ponyboy'll be ass deep in a book so I wouldn't even bother, and if Darry's home, you let Soda do the sweet talking." He said their names with part contempt, part pride. What a situation to be thrust into.

"Oh, and they don't got no parents, so sensitivity is advised." Steve added casually. Constance had to admit she was a little thrown. Perhaps she would end up more confused than Dallas at the end of this ordeal.

She stood in the first room off the porch, blinking in the weak lamp light. It was a tidy spot, a bit worn in, but for a house of teenage boys, it was impressive. A lanky (but well-muscled) teen was sank into a sofa. He looked about 14, had a very handsome face, and wore mahogany hair that though greased, looked smooth as silk. She couldn't gauge his full features on the account that he was indeed 'ass deep in a book' as Steve had predicted. He tensed only slightly at the sound of the door slam, but was otherwise unmoved.

Another teen (this one on the 'cusp of manhood', AKA; 18 or so) was leaning against the skirt of the sofa, eyes glazed on the television, bud in hand. He was also fairly handsome (lean and stocky at the very same time) in a common way, he wore his rust hued head of dirty blonde hair less greased than mahoganies', but more styled. Short, trimmed sideburns framed his face in a surprisingly nice way. His eyes, still focused on the screen, seemed silvery. A very nice addition to a decent southern face.

The final character (besides Steve and Sodapop) was a man looking 'round 20 or so. He looked stern but despite that, utterly confused. He kept raking his calloused fingers through dark hair as he moved around stacks of envelops. She watched as he picked up one, opened it, and then jammed it back into the envelope, away from him. His icy blue eyes had widened something fierce at whatever sum was on that bill, and the finger-combing intensified. Whoever this was, he was certainly out of his element. His hard, muscled façade may have fooled some, but not all.

Steve had apparently hopped in the shower, and Soda was priming up his speech to brief the gang.

"Guys, listen up, this is good –wait, where's Johnny?"

At that moment the screen was pushed open by a kid even shorter than Soda, brushing a sheet of newspaper from his shoulder. This looked like the kind of greaser Dallas would warn against. More black, greasy hair than his head could handle. Bigger deep brown eyes than his sockets could hold. More bruises and scrapes than his olive complexion could contain. His hands were raised, stuffed into a too small jean jacket, and he looked scary at the get go. Until he spoke.

"Right here Soda, I was just catching a wink in the lot." He said softly, though he had been making an attempt to bury it under a rough tone. He looked tough, sure. But there was more to it.

"Allrighty then. Now Two-Bit [Matthews] you pay attention off that screen, and Ponyboy [Curtis], put down that book and hear me out. We got an idea…" Soda burst, pulling the attention of the room towards him. He explained the scheme in basics, then assigned each individual their own role.

"Pony, you go in the kitchen and do homework at the table, Connie'll go in soon ta 'help' ya, ya know, just till we're ready to re-introduce her, so to speak."

Ponyboy nodded, blinking his grey-green eyes slowly. All this information was a little suffocating, and obviously surprising. He pulled himself up, grabbed his books, and faced Soda with a little adolescent snark.

"Great plan Soda, but I ain't taking the fall for this when Dallas goes ballistic." Ponyboy said with an eye roll, he really didn't see how messing with the volatile Dallas Winston would bring them anything but a few loose teeth.

Soda's grin stayed steady, and he winked all clumsy.

"Aw sure Pone. Now Darry [Curtis], I know you're opposed to this, all huffy and puffy like a beached whale over there, but it's just harmless fun. Plus, she needs to meet us, all cooped in with Socs and middle-class folks up at that catholic school, eight years we missed the opportunity of knowin' her!" Soda pleaded. Darry (the icy eyed, rough, muscly one) looked up from his situation, eyebrows furrowed and mouth popped open prepped and ready for a lecture. Upon seeing Soda's hangdog expression though, his forehead relaxed, his mouth closed, and he sighed, back to his work and shaking his head.

"Soda, do what you want, but I'm not responsible for any blood spilt over this." Darry caved. He made eye contact with Constance, a look of pity on his face. In Soda's tellings they had all been made more than aware of her life story and Dally's protection.

Soda moved on to the new kid. Johnny [Cade].

"Johnny, you stay in here with me and the rest, keep it lookin' unsuspicious."

Johnny nodded his agreement and slid down beside Two-Bit who clapped his shoulder with his free hand in greeting.

"As for you Two-Bit, no sarcasm or wise-cracking that'll spoil our surprise, just keep your concentration on the set." Soda said in a warning tone, pointing at the cartoon.

A lazy smile spread over Two-Bit's kind face. He cocked one eyebrow up and lifted his bottle.

"Here's ta keepin' secrets, and a pretty one at that!" He let out a short laugh, the most uplifting she had ever heard, as his attention fell back to the TV screen.

* * *

Less than 30 seconds after that exchange, Constance was being ushered hurriedly into the small linoleum kitchen. Before Soda finished rushing her in –"Dally could be here any minute, good gawd!"-Steve sashayed out of the bathroom, hair soaked with water and fresh hair oil, DX shirt buttoned up all lopsided even.

"Took ya long enough!" Soda exclaimed. "There's one last thing we need to get straight, just to mess with Dallas to the best of our abilities, we're gonna introduce Connie as my date."

"Now you just wait one second there ya filthy Sodapop! I won that bet by a mile, she'll act as my girl!" Steve shouted, fists clenched.

Soda sighed reluctantly. "I thought you'd say that and I 'spose your right."

He gave Constance a look that said "Sorry you're stuck with _that_, but he did win". With this, he made one last hurrying motion with his long hands sending her to her place at Ponyboy's side.

In the cramped quarters of the kitchen, Constance leaned up against the mysteriously dented oven door. Ponyboy had pulled out his math sheets, and was just breezing through them. That she could understand, once you cracked the code of numbers, it never changed. So unlike anything else in life.

Hands on the small plastic table, Ponyboy turned to face her.

"I'm sorry for whatever Soda put you through, he can get kinda excited, but you'll like him a lot. I promise." He said colour rising to his cheeks only slightly, a small smile on his lips. It'd been about ten minutes in the kitchen and they hadn't talked much. It only then occurred to Constance that a guy like this may be kinda nervous around the opposite sex (especially one this close to her age, yet younger still). She was just about to start a real conversation with this handsome young man about school, work, or some such subject when she heard a familiar voice drift through the door ajar.

* * *

"What the fuck are you guys doing? Soda? Stop with the fucking twitching man! You're freaking me out. Matthews, you dead or something?" Dallas said nudging Two-Bit with a weathered cowboy boot.

"No sir, not dead. Just keeping my concentration on the set." He said in a falsely robotic voice, mimicking exactly what Soda had said when talking about what he needed to do. Dallas grunted in a disgusted tone delivering one more kick (harder than the first) to the sitting Two-Bit before shifting to face Johnny. Behind Dally's back Soda shook an aggravated fist at the now lively and grinning Two-Bit.

"Johnny, you know what's up? I mean look at these posers…" Dallas turned in circle, gesturing to the gathered gang. Suspicion was clearly rooted in his mannerisms.

Before Johnny could choke out an unconvincing lie, Soda played his card.

"Well Dally, Steve brought a date through here. She's in the kitchen helping Pony with his homework." He interjected.

"Must be one smart broad if she's any help to that kid." Dallas scowled. He had an unlit cigarette taking a break between his lips.

"I'll get her. Now Dallas be nice, she ain't no hood like you." Said Steve in mock warning.

Dally shook his head and stared at the ceiling.

"You do that, ya mouthy grease."

* * *

Both Ponyboy and Constance were bonding in a very interesting way.

Pony, being considerably taller than Constance, had his ear pressed to the top half of the peeling wooden door. Connie had the determination to pull a glass from the cupboard as a listening device, following Pony's example but with bending slightly at the knees. This must have been a mighty precarious operation considering the tumble they took as Steve bumped the door wide.

"What're you two jokers doing?" He said in a fierce whisper.

"Aw lay off Steve, we only wanted to hear." Pony said in a hushed voice of barely veiled dislike.

"Well come on out wise-ass, Dally's here to meet Constance. Hold on, Constance, does he ever call you Connie?" Steve inquired softly.

"Not once." She replied surely.

"Okay, that's what I'll introduce you as, but only for now." He said almost to himself. "You two count to five then walk in real casual like."

He slid back out the door. Constance smoothed her hair and fixed her dress. Ponyboy fidgeted behind her nervously. They were both uncertain as they entered the centre of attention.

Constance stood there stiff, waiting anxiously for Dallas to turn around. Ponyboy took the opportunity to return to his book. From his sofa spot his eyes peeked over the page, surveying the scene as an outsider. Time passed, Dallas was still talking down to Johnny, Constance realized just how tired she was, Two-Bit smiled all boozy up at her, and she glared. She was tired of him. She was tired of all of them.

Steve apparently caught on to her impatience.

"Hey Dall, this is my girl Connie." He said after clearing his throat deeply.

Dally turned his head slowly, hands in his leather jacket, unlit cigarette still peeking between his teeth. He started to look at her from the bottom up in typical Dallas fashion.

"Oh Doll, you could do better." He said real sleazy just before his gaze passed her neck. As soon as his eyes met hers, the room's tension skyrocketed.

He squinted, his ears red. His teeth automatically clamped on his weed, and he shakingly lit it with what she could only assume was rage. With one shuddering pull of smoke he regained his composure, assuming the gang was just as oblivious to the relation as he had always intended.

"Connie huh? Well _Connie_, don't you look familiar." He said long and slow, never taking his contemptful stare from hers.

Everyone was hanging off his words with wild excitement and none too mild enjoyment.

"She really don't look anything like you, for a sister too!" Two-Bit screeched choking back laughter unsuccessfully. He was practically keeled over from drunken entertainment and Constance couldn't help but be thankful of how he cracked the joke wide open pre-awkwardness.

Dally's fists clenched and unclenched tightly at his sides.

"Man you guys have some nerves, you know that? I'll get each and every one of you –you first Sodapop Curtis!-" He gasped as Soda slinked back towards his room. They were all laughing now, except Dallas and Johnny (who was only following by example). "Constance. I can't believe, I just can't believe-We need to talk right now you, you-" His rage spilled over right then. He grabbed her just above the elbow and yanked out onto the porch, ending abruptly her spiteful giggles. This would be one of the more unpleasant talks between Dallas and his sister, but not the last of them.

* * *

"For fucks sake Constance. What the hell were you thinking?" He sighed in indignation, pacing the porch out front.

"Oh Dallas, I don't know! They came in the diner, made the connection, and well…It's about time I knew something about your goddamn life!" Constance cried out. It was then that it occurred to her just how hurt she was by the way he kept her sectioned off from everything he cared about.

"Jesus Constance I, I-wait, what diner?" He looked up from his pacing, an incredulous look twisting his features.

"Just a lil' new one up and across from the DX, not nearly as big an rowdy as the Dingo. I got a job there, waitin' tables…but you would know that if you'd visited this month. Even once." It was her turn to look down. She'd hidden her worry up until now, but she supposed it was the reason for her taking that job. Being near the East side gave her hope for catching a glimpse of her elusive brother, just to check up that he wasn't dead in a gutter someplace (and the extra cash flow didn't hurt none).

"That place'll be a grease hangout within the week! What the hell are you doin' 'round here?" He shouted the first part like it was the most obvious thing in the world, in reality, Constance hadn't given any of it much thought.

"Well ya can't keep me from the East side forever! I only live a block away, most consider that the East side as it is." She ended with a sigh. Her lids fluttered, she just wanted sleep.

"It's for a damned good reason and you know it! A block is enough, enough for now. The Socs are gettin' worse towards us. Don't need them knowin' you're a grease! Middle-class is the way to be in this day and age, and don't I know it. It's best you stay a distance from this place. From me." He looked hard and mean to her then, cold. His stare softened. "Now then, I'm driving you home. Oh, and you'll be quittin' that waitress gig." He said with a smirk.

"Like hell I will." She retorted sticking out her tongue. Constance picked up her saddle shoes and sashayed down the steps in her uniform, suddenly not so itchy. They bumped and shoved each other all the way to Dally's ride. It was probably stolen, but she didn't care.

* * *

When Dally returned to the Curtis home, the mood was grim. Dallas's reaction to Soda and the rest had been a little threatening, yet common behaviour as it goes. It was surprising that Dallas just ate some and left, right afterwards with less than a word. Perhaps he was in one of his quiet, dangerous moods (arguably more terrifying than the cussing out and spasm prone fists). Ponyboy couldn't stop thinking about the implausibility of hiding a girl (a sister!) in plain sight. Implausibility aside though, if Dally wanted something to stay a secret, he had the connections. 'Round 11 or so, Soda was sitting with Two-Bit and Johnny, Darry had gone to bed with an exhausted 'told ya so' and a yawn, and Steve was polishing off a slice of chocolate cake. He had a dreamy look in his eyes, and Pony could just tell he had fallen for Constance. That's stupid, he thought, he don't know anything about her besides the way she looks. As well as her and Dally's basics. Pony hoped she would just ignore Steve, she could do better, and didn't he have a girlfriend anyhow? She was real pretty though, and seemed quick in words. Maybe Ponyboy could add another person to the miniscule list of those who understood him.

* * *

Two-Bit left soon after with a fresh bud in hands and a sloppy disposition. He was headed home the street over to turn off the porch light and kiss his kid-sister goodnight. He could've gone out drinking till the wee hours in the morning, but he was weary. A night full of excitements and little to no wisecracks able to be let loose! He didn't think much of the whole situation however, he had expected sly little Dally to have a deep dark secret, that towheaded ol' tool.

* * *

Steve had won the bet and he sure as hell wouldn't let Soda forget it. He'd need dear Pepsi-Cola's help in the matter of wooing a girl, one so pretty and so related to the feared Winston.

**[A/N: Ok guys...my first stab at the Outsiders genre. If you like it (or if you don't), take a sec and drop me a review, whatever you say I won't lash out at you! ;)] **


	2. Chapter 2: Summertime Blues

_**Summertime Blues**_

Constance woke up in her little closet room, the sunshine of her horrendously placed window searing her first morning glance. She remembered the shift she had to fulfill as soon as she recalled the previous night's ordeal. Judging by the brightness of the sun she had approximately 15 minutes to be ready and be there, slinging syrup for the breakfast rush. This realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and rolling over with groggy urgency, landed on the floor just as hard.

* * *

It took 10 of those 15 minutes to grab her extra dress, shimmy it on, fluff up her hair, wick on some mascara, and wrap a hot pink bandana around her wrist four times. She made a run for the sidewalk in stocking feet. She hated to run unless she was in danger of losing her arm (or her job), but made the motivation for a three block dash. She slid into rollerblades still sweaty from a nights work, and made her way into the dining area only 2 minutes late, a metal tray in her hand ready to take on the world.

* * *

The breakfast rush is crushing on an ordinary crowd, but it was today, many times worse. When Dallas was right, he was _right_. Just as he had predicted the amount of greasers in her place of work had been steadily progressing, but this morning easily 90% of the customers had slicked back hair, cigarette rolled sleeves, an attitude, and of course, grabby hands. Constance, being very attractive _and_ 15 going on 16 made for a perfect object of attention to all these young men of the East side. It didn't help matters that the only waitress on shift with her was pushing 50, leaving her the only girl (including their girlfriends) that they made an effort to pay attention to.

* * *

The time rounded to 9 o'clock in the AM, by this hour, Constance estimated her butt had been smacked at least sixty times and she had been asked out for a 'coke' maybe fifty. But for hoods, they tipped well. It may have accounted for her looks, her tight dress, or maybe even her quick service, but Constance liked to imagine that these sleazy guys may have had a gentlemanly bone in their body. Now, she wasn't saying they were all bad. A very scary looking hood by the name of Tim Sheppard paid her a decent compliment, asked her name, and left a fair sized tip when she told him. He had only laughed softly when she had confirmed that yes, Dallas Winston was indeed her brother, and shook his head, wishing her luck with all the guys who would be willing to risk it.

It became very clear to her just how hidden away she had been. She had hardly ever seen a real greaser, certainly not in their territory no matter how close she lived to it. Dallas was a crafty guy, Constance quickly became aware of how much control he had had over her situation. Apparently, he held a lot of power in the greaser social circle to compliment that. As she served food and swerved admirers, snippets of conversation fell on attentive ears.

"Dally'll be real keyed off if he finds out it was you, I'd lay low bud."

"Dallas slashed my tires man, I know it was him who done it. The hell can I do though. I value my teeth."

"I would kill that Johnny kid for what he did ta ma car if Dally wouldn't kill me right back"

The more she heard the more reluctantly impressed she became by her brothers antics, she didn't recognize a single boy here, but they all recognized (and feared) the name Winston. Maybe they could fear her too, if only out of association. Unfortunately, what Tim said was probably true, a lot of guys would risk angering Dallas for a go at the pretty lil' Constance. Some would even chase her purely for the sport of it, she being off limits. The forbidden fruit.

* * *

It was almost noon when Constance first spotted a familiar face, it sported a tired smile, hooded grey eyes, and of course, the trade-mark rusty set of sideburns. She studied him as she filled up a round of coffee cups, though it was well into morning he looked dead on his feet.

He slid into a booth containing the still lounging Shepherd. He had been there for a while, and normally it would be diner protocol to kick him out after an hour, but despite his niceties she wouldn't risk giving him a chance to prove his greaser title. Yes, the Two-Bit Matthews she had been introduced to last night was now poking Tim Shepherd, the bear so to speak.

"Well now, if it isn't Mister Timothy Shepherd. Glory, I haven't seen you in quite a day" Two-Bit yawned throwing his arm around Tim's shoulders in mock friendship. In reality, they would stand up for each other in a fight, yet wouldn't hesitate to do it amongst themselves either.

"Lay off Matthews, I ain't lookin' for company." Tim said, a little annoyed, but a touch jokingly.

"You don't have to, seeing as I'm already here." Two-Bit removed his arm and stretched, propping up his elbows and a menu. "Waitress, would you mind skating up here and getting me a mug a tar." He said not even looking up. Constance was leaning against the counter watching. She now flushed, startled that he had seen her eavesdropping. She pulled a cup from down the counter, flipped it over, and rolled up to the table.

"Here you go Two-Bit. I don't suppose you'll be needin' any cream or sugar?" She asked, pouring the coffee sloppily.

"What's this? How'd you know my name sweet-heart?" His widened eyes looked up at her, brows furrowed. She spluttered a little, how in the hell could he not remember Dally's mystery sister come to light? He noticed her peeved expression. "Now I'm just yankin' your chain little Winston. How could I forget your pretty lil' existence?" He said smugly, eyes back on the menu. "Ya know, I ain't hungry. Just java'll do it. A shit load a cream no sugar if you don't mind."

She raised her eyebrows at his swearing at a young lady he was actually acquainted with, but he didn't get the hint.

"Thanks doll, now there Tim. I hear you and Curly stole a fuck ton a hubcaps, now he's in the reformatory?" He said looking jovially at Tim as she plunked the coffee down in front of his nose.

"Just for a few weeks is all. They couldn't prove it was him, and I made him promise to try for good behaviour." Tim replied, Two-Bit laughed.

"It seems to me he's always a plucked chicken, them court folks buzzin' his grease clear off before he can grow it back again!" He howled in that way that made even the coldest face crack a little.

Constance left them to their banter. That Two-Bit obviously didn't have much of an attention span, and apparently no time for her. Her shift was done anyhow, but those crazy summer hours would have her back by 7 o' clock. She ripped her apron off and left the madhouse for the walk home. On her way out she passed a certain Steve Randle who struck his head off the door wheelin' around to say hi. Boy was he in for it.

* * *

Steve pushed his way into the dinner, "Gerties" the fluorescent tubing spelt out on the wall. He spotted Two-Bit bugging Tim Shepherd and made his way through the throng of grease, rubbing his head all the way. As he sat and waved down a coffee, he scolded himself for not offering to walk her wherever she was headed. The opportunity to develop her relationship just flew over his understanding.

"I think that Connie Winston is quite a looker, real quick too." Said Tim Sheppard conversationally. He looked over his coffee mug, taking a sip, and staring Steve down knowingly.

"Me and Mister Sheppard here saw your entrance, is the door okay?" Two-Bit asked in a parody of concern.

"Look now you two, I ain't want a word of this getting back to Dally. However I think of her is my business until it comes to something." Steve said angrily jabbing a finger at himself to punctuate just how much of his business, and his alone it was.

"No, you look now little Stevie. She's very pretty and acts like she can handle herself, just what every grease in this joint wants. A challenge." Two-Bit said, halfway serious. "You hardly even know the girl, how 'bout you try and get an idea before you start declaring your L-O-V-E's."

"If she was a blonde you'd be doing more and the same." Steve said with a little pout. It wasn't odd for Steve to get worked up, but over a girl he just met it was strange.

"Ya know what ya know." Two-Bit shrugged. "And nearly a blonde is better than none." He said with a sly wink. He was still tired and amazed he'd gotten up before twelve.

* * *

Constance was still smelling of pancake syrup as she bent over the little vanity, she was trying to make something of her so straight its slippery hair. She gave up on all the latest do-styles and worked in a little savviness with a mint green bandana neck tie and a pleated dress. She was to go out with friends and spend a little hard earned dough on ice-cream and new accessories.

As she walked out into the nearest shopping street to meet her friends, she took a second to enjoy open air. She loved and hated that diner. All too soon her solitude was interrupted, hanging under the lamppost were three girls to become company.

* * *

The first was tall and willowy, one arm wrapped around the lamppost to keep her steady in scandalous heeled shoes. Donna Masterson was teetering. It was a fatal flaw of hers to keep up with the trends in all of clothes and music, no matter the displeasure it brought her stepmother. Her flighty blonde hair was in a frenzy of ringlets modelled badly after Julie Christie, face free of makeup, and dress uncomfortably high necked yet sleeveless. She always looked different, but was quiet all the same, letting her tastes speak for her.

Beside her was a red haired beauty, Cherry Valence (Sherri in all actuality) who deigned to hang out with the middle-class despite being mega rich Soc by birth. Her face was drawn out pretty, and hair curled up at the ends. She didn't turn as many heads as Constance, but was a looker all the same even in the conservative sweater-skirt combos she typically donned. She was a real spunky girl who hung out with them for the main reason that her step-ahead opinions aren't tolerated by the set Socs or her best gal Marcia. She came to learn that her words were most powerful in small, concentrated doses, and that's the way she spoke. Only when she really wanted to be heard.

And standing at least a head below them all (a head and a half in the case of Donna) was edgy Patricia Boone. She had dark, dark brown hair that her grandmother constantly tried to bleach and big dark eyes, with lips that looked swollen. Constance assured her that she would grow into it all to look like Audrey Hepburn in her prime (she did have the wavy curls), but for now she just looked perpetually lost, distant, and dreaming. She wore yellow that day, which looked good and sweet but the fact that she was smoking a cigarette kind of lost the 'nice' effect (she was the only steady smoker left in the group since Connie quit). She looked absolutely out of it, staring into the distance, but no matter how often this occurred, she was a decent conversationalist and a funny chick.

Sometimes Cynthia the dumb and blonde would join them, but today these girls set off alone as they were looking for sales, and flirting with boys.

* * *

Patty and Constance were perusing in a junk jewellery shop when Constance spotted a certain Ponyboy Curtis stroll by with a couple of nice looking boys, not the greasers he would surely be accustomed to. She was just about to step out and say hello when Patty reached out and stopped her. Those big eyes flashed warning.

"Constance, I don't know why you're about to talk to those guys, but I wouldn't. If you haven't noticed there's a greaser in their herd and keepin' that kinda company could ruin your reputation." She said, hands tightening their grasp on Constance's shoulder.

"Hey now Patty-Cake, middleclass are as neutral as they come. Don't go worrying about me, I know the guy." Constance shot back tauntingly, not quite getting Patty's point.

She shook her head eyes wide.

"Not no more. Those guys are behind the times. In the past couple 'a month's it's been Soc against grease hard out there. We may be 'neutral' but I think you know what side is the safer take." Patty spoke harsh but soft, eyes wandering again. They landed on Cherry and Donna outside waving at them to come for their ice-cream meeting. The conversation was dropped.

* * *

Ponyboy strolled the streets lazily, yet trying best to straighten out his slouch. These were nice streets, and nice stores, he wasn't near used to them. The boys he was chumming with weren't as familiar as the gang, but they knew each other good from school and track, they weren't Socs to him, and to them he was as good as middleclass. It was all just peachy for a time, Pony was contributing to the conversation, raised a few laughs, and had managed not to spend any money. It all took a landslide sure enough though.

One older boy who Pony recognized from school showed up, walking fast towards them. He was about to pass when he noticed one member.

"Hey, kids, the hell you doing with a hood like that?" He said accusingly, gesturing at Pony's clothes and hair.

"He ain't no hood Bob, just a little bit of a grease, but he's okay." Daniel said defensively. He was the closet to Pony in the group with a corn spun look about him and blue eyes. Hell, he even wore a little oil in his hair.

"Well, _kids_, if you knew what was up you'd kick him out of your little 'gang'. Being seen 'round town with a greaser, well let's just say it ain't giving me the kindest of ideas." Bob Sheldon (for that's who it was) sneered.

Daniel shouldered on past him and the rest followed suit. Pony glanced back to catch Bob giving him such a horrible stink eye that it practically bore holes into his thick white cotton t-shirt. The group of five or so fell silent after that. Some whispered about it barely out of Ponyboy's hearing. He jammed his hands in pockets and forgot about stupid posture, he put on a tough stance, kicking stones in front of him. Then he took his leave.

"Bob was right, I better stick with my own gang. Can't be seen with a couple 'a Socs." He said through gritted teeth. He didn't mean a word of it but stalked off home nonetheless.

Danny's assurances fell on deaf ears.

* * *

Donna and Cherry stayed over at Connie's for a bit after their browsing, reading a magazine and watching her get dressed for work. Patricia would have come too, but with Constance facing a hard shift, the temptation of lighting up would be too much with an avid smoker in the room. Constance was a little glad she was busy anyhow, she still needed to think on their previous conversation. She hooked her name tag on straight ("Connie") as Cherry piped up.

"We saw a grease today on the streets with a group of middleclass guys, maybe the times are changing good." She said eyes level, and voice sweet.

"I hear the opposite. From Dallas, from Patty, from just about everybody, even your Bob Sheldon, Cherry." Constance sighed.

"Just wishful thinking, I 'spose." Cherry said sadly.

"I hardly ever seen a grease, so I can't tell no difference." Donna said vaguely, eyes glued to the vogue in her hand. All of Donna, Patty, Constance, and even Cynthia were cooped up in that uniform Catholic school (two out of four didn't believe in a lick of their teachings though). Only Cherry had a true, daily view of the outside.

Constance rose from her vanity and slipped on her shoes, she had given herself plenty of time to get there without busting a vein.

"I'm headed out girls, and I'll walk alone. Need to clear my head. Y'all let yourselves out when you're ready."

* * *

She walked nice and slow down the cracked pavement sidewalk, hands jammed in her light weight purple jacket, not warm enough for the evening chill that accompanied a sticky Tulsa afternoon. Her eyes were down, too lost in her own minds view to look ahead. She slammed into a solid form.

"Cripes." Two-Bit Matthews said laughing. "Ya know, it's only common courtesy to look where ya walk." From the way Constance was walking, those Dandelions must have been pretty interesting.

She looked up at him, clearly peeved.

"I was thinking. And didn't you see me walkin' towards you anyhow?" She said testily.

What an unwelcoming chick, Two-Bit thought building a little grudge up. Apparently the ice princess had spoken (Dallas being the ice queen of course) on how he was to watch his way and let her off the hook. Truth be it he hadn't really been paying attention, he was thinking too.

"I thought you was coming to say howdy." Two-Bit replied with an eye roll. "Where you headed anyways, your place of work be callin'?" He asked with a cocked brow. Lord knows Steve was already at the diner making a 'coincidental' meeting occur.

She mumbled a 'yeah' like it was the last place she wanted to be.

"Well, then I'll walk ya…and from the looks of it so will lil' Stevie." Two-Bit said with yet another eyebrow twitch as Steve practically dashed down the sidewalk towards them.

* * *

"Hey there Two-Bit, me and Evie is on the quits again so I thought Constance would like some company at work." Steve railed, none to subtlety.

"I've got enough greasy company as it is up there thanks. And I don't appreciate being a rebound girl so don't even start." She said with a certain ferocity. Two-Bit was impressed by her rejection, but Steve was not deterred.

"Now I know you don't know me too well, but I gotta say out of the whole lot I am most definitely the best for you. The only one who can take on ol' Dally, no issue." Steve said with faltering confidence. Two-Bit had a clue where this hilariously fake cockiness was coming from, Steve was worthless with girls until their lips were locked, Soda's charm lessons did not look good on him.

"Walk me to the diner if you got the need, but after that you better scram. I ain't got no time or thought to spare for a silly infatuation such as yours." She said with obvious disdain, Steve deflated. Two-Bit's interest was a little piqued, how many times had she gone through this before?

* * *

Steve was jolly as a dew drop in heaven when Two-Bit took off. He was real nervous around Connie, and desperately wanted to show his tough personality. The real one, not this silly charmer thing of Sodapop's creation. So he gave it a go.

"Doll, you and I better give it a go. No more dancing around the subject, I like what I see and hear from ya, and I want it." Steve said looking ahead lighting a cigarette. She looked up at him like he was talking in tongue.

"You are real stupid, you know? I realize you're in it for the looks and the challenge, but I ain't got no reason to feel a similar attraction." She said, shaking her head through it all as if he became a moron right before her eyes. He guessed he had, clearly a little more antics needed to be up if he wanted to land this broad. Until then, he blushed, he sure as hell couldn't show his face 'round here no more.

* * *

Constance told him off for the last time as they approached the diner, she then spun on her heel from him, walked through the back, and didn't once turn. She would be amused by his personality switch, but for the fact it happened far too often. Boys would try and charm her into their arms, find she wasn't so easy, and let their real-self shine through. She had figured out the algorithm for teen male attentions at age 13 when her looks set in.

* * *

Besides this little hiccup, the shift was flying by. Until the hall fell eerily silent, if only for three seconds. This was due to the fact that it only took five for Dally to walk in and be noticed by all. Dallas Winston was here to pay his sister a visit.

* * *

Dallas saw Constance before Constance saw Dallas. Just the way he wanted, so he could see what her field of work was actually like. It didn't take long for a young grease (clearly oblivious to the kinship) to show him. Up that kids hand went, and across it continued for the classic, waitress-is-taking-an-order, ass slap. Constance just scowled at him after being so used to the practice, yet the kid stayed smug. For a few seconds anyway, until his head popped back with a left hook.

The kid clutched his blood spurting nose and Dallas caught Constance's look.

"If you wanna continue working here, one member of my gang has gotta be watching on your whole shift. Man, these motherfucking punks wanna touch you? They'll get a Curtis gang fist right down their throat." He said coolly, not taking his eyes off of Constance while pouring a scalding cup a Joe directly into the assaulters lap.

* * *

Dallas hung around after that, right up until the end of her miniscule 2 hour shift, a blessing in disguise on a Friday night. Constance had kept her eye on him all through her serving, he was attentive, but his thoughts were wandering. She didn't know about what until he straight up told her. That's the thing with Dallas, you get nothing from him until it all comes at once.

"I'm taking you out tonight." He said firmly. She must have looked more than a little confused because he continued. "Out to my pal Buck's, it's a roadhouse, not too clean and lots of hoods. If you wanna dive right in here -like I see you have-, you gotta know what you're up against."

She was a little surprise at how easily he caved, and the social aspect of his 'lesson'. Leave it to Dallas, instead of screaming at her for going against his wishes, he wanted to teach her how to survive on the road she chose.

"And I ain't gonna hang around all night babyin' yah. I'll have an eye out, but you're taking care of yourself, hanging out with some mighty unsavoury characters and drinking good, but not heavy. You wanna fit in? You gotta _fit in_." He said with a wagging finger. She wasn't excited for this at all, but maybe a perk was hidden in there?

"Does this mean you and your friends won't be babyin' me at work either?" Constance asked eagerly, a grinning, begging look plastered on her face as she beamed up at the taller Dallas.

He crinkled his nose and snorted, blowing the little silver blonde wisps of his unkempt hair out of his eyes. With this smirk on his face she could just see one snaggle-tooth poke out.

"Like hell it does. At Buck's there'll be plenty of sluts your age to keep the boys busy. Here you're the only decent thing in a skirt." Dallas retorted knowingly.

Only, he didn't know, in fact, he was so very, very wrong.

**[A/N: Am I keeping all your favourite characters in character? Let me know your thoughts about that (or anything else) in a review if you've got a second and an idea ^.^]**


	3. Chapter 3: One

**One**

_**[Disclaimer; I disclaim this all to S.E. Hinton except for Constance&Co.]**_

_**[A/N: I appreciate all the views and visits, I was ecstatic about that review which drove me to update extra fast, and even that question was exciting and fun to answer. Remember to follow and favourite though if you feel like it's worth it, getting those e-mails is like a drugx3]**_

_**[Reviews, Criticism, Witticism, Questions, Comments: All welcome and more! Food for a starving artist ;)] **_

Constance and Dallas showed up at Buck Merrill's dive only a half-hour after shifts end. Dallas assumed that this would give Constance less time to doll up (and thus bring extra attention), but she trumped him good. As he had waited downstairs at their aunt and uncle's house making no conversation and ignoring his uncle's backhanded insults, and his aunt's fretfulness over his wellbeing, Constance had been cleaning herself up.

In that tiny closet room of hers, her everyday magic was happening. She pulled a dark-blue dress, tight (except for the two pleated pockets) and an inch above her knee, still decent, but enticing nonetheless. The top was a little blousy, the sleeves were short and a teensy bit flared, the neckline revealed just enough for a hint at the main show. Over all, sensible with a little sexy hidden around. Her face was kept basic, a touch-up on powder, more black mascara, a cosmetic flush, and a bitten shaded lip. Her shoes were un-heeled, black, buckle free, and shined to a tee. The only accessory was a headband style red paisley bandana with black and white line detail. Pretty good if she did say so herself. Dally had other words for it.

* * *

The aunt and uncle (plump and blonde, and reedy and bald, respectively) had abandoned their living room post for bed, so Dallas felt free to throw up his hands in exasperation.

"You tryin' to get them to come on to you? How the hell do you even do that, huh? I'd tell you to wipe your face, but there's not much on it, and I'd tell to change but it's nearly sensible. Man, the hell with you chicks and your 'ways'." He said to the ceiling, sighing audibly.

Constance only flashed his own smirk back at him, and poked his shoulder. A brother will never quite get it.

* * *

But now as they stood before the awkwardly shaped white building that was the roadhouse she felt eerily calm. She would just order a drink and remain inconspicuous, observing.

The bar had other ideas for her.

First of all; the music was horrible. A sickening Hank Williams blared from a fuzzy speaker. Couldn't they play some of the Beatles (her current favourite), Elvis (a crowd pleaser), or anything else at all? The seizure her ears were experiencing made her eyes take a vacation.

Second; what Dallas had said was only halfway true, sure there were 'sluts', but in no way did they keep the boys 'busy'. No they only tried to chatter with her about menial girl garbage, and the boys could do nothing but stare. Occasionally trying to cop an 'accidental' feel when they reached across her barstool for a bottle. She had rejected many so far, using a variety of her experience tested techniques, and none had gotten disrespectful about it. Yet. There was always the word 'yet' for caution.

Third and final (though there were many other unnecessary things); the beer was like warm piss, and too cheap to be trusted. She almost did a spit-take at first swallow before gulping it back down. Dallas had told her to drink a little.

* * *

She was well over the third, tolerating the second, and increasingly pissed by the first, by the time all those reasons had taken a backseat. She was surrounded by a flock of tipsy teen girls with far too much eye makeup and far too little moral sensibility when up strolled Comic Relief itself, Two-Bit Matthews.

He looked at her for less than a second before plopping himself on the adjoining stool, elbows up on the bar he leaned back on, and eyes scanning the crowd. He didn't even utter a greeting.

Constance felt irritated that he hadn't said hello, or even complimented her like he usually did, off-hand. This thought was brief for she instantly felt petty and vain for thinking it. As tired as she could get of faulty advances, the ones she wanted -even marginally- never seemed to come. It was a depressing outlook, but it proved true for the most part. Sometimes she wondered if she just craved what she didn't get automatically.

8 minutes passed; without a word between them, 3 more disappointed boys, and an extra beer downed by Constance. As the fourth boy came and went, Two-Bit let on what he was studying.

"Their technique is all wrong, for picking up a lady that is." He said matter-of-factly. "Not surprising considering most of these grease balls haven't talked to a real lady since they last held up a pharmacy!" His laugh sounded twice.

"Well now, that ain't fair. They haven't seen the great suave Two-Bit Matthews operate. They don't get no decent example set!" She said with dry sarcasm.

He turned full circle to stare at her, actual eye contact for once!

"Don't be sassy now, I know how to flirt. Real well I might add." He said with a muscle flex. "In fact, I'll show ya. Just let me go freshen up and make my real entrance." Two-Bit drawled, feet to the floor, flipping up his collar. He took his leave.

* * *

Peering in the cracked mirror of the classy Buck's can, Two-Bit tried to comb his hair into a decent place. A good flirt has to start with a good look. As he gazed at his reflection he thought back on how hard it had been for him to look at Constance this evening, the more often he saw her the less often he was able to think of her as Dally's lil' sister. Off limits. She was a cool gal too, maybe a little full of herself, but with all the attention she got from man and woman, he could hardly blame her. As far as personality flaws go, it was tame with the option to be annoying. She got huffy real fast though, but countered it by not getting offended by his jokes, or over selling them. He could see a friendship on the coast, because even though Dally had instructed him to keep her company, and watch her other 'company', he was planning on going over to see her anyways.

He busted out of the unhinged door and started picking his way over. He would show her how he picked up a chick, ya right. More likely the goal of this was to make her laugh and buy her a drink.

Two-Bit was about 7 people from the bar where she sat before he stopped dead in his tracks. Evidently he would no longer have to make her laugh, some other grease was doing a mighty fine job of that.

* * *

On his way towards the exit, his shoulder clipped Dallas.

"You can watch your own damn sister." Two-Bit said in a most un-Matthews like manner. Gruff, and not in the least bit feeling tuff.

* * *

Constance sat on her bar stool busting a gut over the lamest pick-up line she had ever heard in her entire existence.

A ginger of a young grease came up to her with this gem: "Are you from Tennessee? 'Cause you're the only Ten I See." He said with an earnest, cocky expression. She couldn't help herself and choked, but seeing this 17 year-old guy look so dejected made her feel like a real cow, so she offered up Two-Bit's empty stool, completely forgetting he was on his way back.

"New York actually. My names Constance, and I can tell you that was the best I've heard all night, and trust me. I've heard plenty." She said with a cheeky smile. But she was telling the truth, no matter how terrible, ginger was still the most endearing of them all.

"Well Connie, the names Gary and I ain't doubt that for a second." He grinned revealing a missing canine. Sleaze he may be but, Constance looked around remembering Two-Bit, at least he wasn't abandoning her.

* * *

Gary the Ginger had long since left the area with the name of her diner scribbled on a bar rag napkin. She was sitting alone again, alone except for the fact that Sylvia would not stop buzzing.

* * *

Constance had met Sylvia through Dallas a couple of years previous, about 5 months into their first relationship. Constance had been reluctant at first, during this time of her early teens she was barely curious about Dallas's extracurricular activities and social life. He had visited more frequently then. Despite her wariness, Dally was insistent that his 'best broad' would know about her. Apparently Sylvia was suspicious concerning where Dallas was all those times he had been absent from her side, she was on his case about cheating when actually he had just been letting Constance know he was alive. This made the first meeting less than pleasant.

It had been a chilly spring morning that day, Constance was sprawled on her bed having just discovered how charming and underrated Ringo was, and felt it was necessary to read every magazine that would tell her even his favourite brand of drumstick. She was on her way out of preteen experience by then, boys were out of her mind and she was on theirs. She wasn't socially aware enough to know that meeting Dallas's girlfriend was a big deal, she didn't even bother to write down the time they were supposed to meet. Due to this lack of caring, she showed up at the decided ice cream parlour 10 minutes late. The first time she even saw Sylvia and Sylvia had hated her.

Propped up daintily at the counter was a girl a year or less older than Constance was at the time. She was astoundingly short, her Maryjane heeled shoes barely reached halfway down the stool, but were crossed prim nonetheless. She was blonde too, a sickeningly-sweet lemony yellow colour that may have been fake if the roots had not matched so well. Her posture and pose screamed preppy, lovely, and moralistic, yet her clothes and expression gave way to the fact that she was absolutely, not a doubt, none of these things.

Her skirt was short, pale yellow, and pressed into 'flirty' pleats. Her shirt was pure white, but with a most un-pure tightness and neckline. Her face was caked with powders, but so well blended that it seemed as if a solid mask of ivory. Her eyes were a chlorine blue, ringed intensely with every form of makeup this side of Iowa in a most dramatic shade of metallic black. The face, perhaps under all the gunk, had its naturally pretty merits, but for the searing scowl that cut through it sharply.

Taking this in in one solid glance, Constance stepped back, jerking from the pure intimidation emanating from the petite form. She regretted, but knew in an instant that yes, this must be Dally's dear Sylvia.

The meeting after that instance was of course forced and awkward.

"You're late." Sylvia said to her coarsely before turning on her stool to stir her float furiously.

Dally had to pick up the conversation from there as Constance is not and was not one to speak when confronted with such bitciness. It's something she will always stand by when dealing with any moody girl, woman, or man-child.

He also was not too keen to get Sylvia talking, so instead he just dropped facts about Constance, about Sylvia, and about the things they may have in common.

With each realization that Constance had similar tastes and ideas, Sylvia perked up, and by the end of the hour, was jabbering at top speed about everything they needed to do to together. Constance though was not so easily swayed, a first impression was all her quick judgement had needed, and in this case the first impression was an ugly face-twist sneer. It didn't help that Sylvia still made that face too this very day.

* * *

So Sylvia talked and Constance didn't listen, she again tried her best to observe. Until of course, Sylvia piqued her interest. Sylvia never, ever, piqued her interest.

"All I saws was you an Two-Bit when I got here, ya were drinking like a mule and he was trying his best an hardest ta keep his eyes off a you." Sylvia drawled. "Now I ain't hang out with those boys much, but Evie (Steve's ol girl) told me that Steve was fallin' all over ya. From what I seen I woulda switched Two-Bit into that statement."

Constance gave her a long hard look, truth be told she was a little drunk, and ready to go home. Work in the AM and all. Sylvia just returned it with popped plucked brows.

"I'm just reportin' what I been seein'. Ain't my fault you lead them on." Sylvia spoke down to her taking a teensy girly sip from her beer that turned into a full on chug.

She just sighed in response, hopped from her barstool seat, and resisted the urge to flip off the world. Constance Winston (almost) left the building.

* * *

Constance stumbled through the grimy, dimly lit crowd, a lot bigger it seemed from the centre with no way to see the out. Her drunken teetering brought her to the other end of the wraparound bar even more heavily condensed with people. She wanted to leave so badly, but Dallas was not in her hazed field of vision. She waited, phasing in and out of comprehensible thoughts.

* * *

Two-Bit was still on the premise as it was, he had decided that no way in hell was he going to go home sober on a Saturday night just because of one busy broad. So he chummed about in the parking lot, talking shit to passing Socs and bumming bad beer off of fellow hoods. Soon enough the street-lamp lit car park, filled to the brim with greasers, produced a scuffle. It was a safey that any unarmed guy could hop in on, started about something concerning a busted hubcap and yada yada a punch was thrown. Two-Bit sidestepped the writhing, fast worked-up mass, he would have happily joined in if he wasn't packing his good switch. No dice that he would throw that to the curb just for a fat lip and a good knuckle connection.

As it was he kept a straight heading for a cold beer on the inside. Chances are Constance had left this late in, and if she hadn't, he didn't need to pass her specifically. He strolled through the permanently propped open door on the hunt for a better buzz.

En route to the bar his clear plan got muddled. A cloudy Constance was parked near the entrance, eyes scanning the crowd of cowboys and their tongue holders, looking for someone with her arms folded. If she was trying to look set n steady, she was failing. Her tipsy form had a hard lean to the left.

Clearly she was looking to leave, and acting a little out of it. Two-Bit put aside his stupid 'problems' with her and helped a greaser out.

"Constance you ain't lookin' so good. I seen ya drink, too much for a lil' lady, Winston or not." He said joking, not without his concern he grabbed her elbow and led her to the door.

* * *

"You didn't come back." She slurred, eyes closed, leaning against the paint-peeled frame they had just arrived at. All that alcohol had come onto her in waves.

He felt guilty, glad she couldn't see the look of pain flash over his features. He simply turned and waved over Dallas who had just spotted his swaying sister.

Two-Bit even allowed himself a goofy grin as she keeled over, puking up pure beer on Dally's cracked leather cowboy boots.

How she managed to still look appealin' with bile at her mouth's corners, he'll never know.

* * *

It was 6 o'clock in the morning and Constance could not, for the life of her, force open her eyes. Her head pounded somethin' fierce as the annoying sunlight infiltrated her fractured vision. She tried to yawn as she rubbed at her face roughly, but her mouth was so dry that her tongue kept sticking everywhere. She rolled over and felt that if a tired person couldn't yawn, they sure as hell couldn't stand.

But work. Work was important. She strangled out a dry yawn, just to prove to herself that yes, she could stand. Get ready. Live.

As she brought her pulsing mind to the present and raised her torso to stretch, she heard the scrape of a match being lit.

Her eyes shot open and her body up, rail straight.

There, sitting in her tiny rocking chair was Dallas, knocking his cigarette's ash onto her cold, hard floor.

"You're hung-over, you're working." He said with a growl. He did not look impressed, sitting there…barefoot?

"I can't Dallas." She groaned, rolling onto her stomach and grasping the pillow to steady herself. "I'm dead. I ain't no dead man walking either."

"Look here kid. When I say have a beer, I mean have a fucking beer. Not two, not three, not however many you sucked down." He said slow, leaning in threateningly.

"Eight." Constance moaned from her smothered state.

"What? What was that?" He asked her, thinking she was sassing him.

"I had…I had eight. I had eight beers." She sighed falling back to sleep.

"Holy shit kid. Eight beers and you should have passed out cold a hell of a lot sooner for someone so fucking short. A tolerance man, chick like you has a fucking tolerance." He shook his head.

"So…no work?" She asked, one eye peeking over at him.

"Yah right. Take an Aspirin you little shit." He said, slamming the door as loud as humanly possible on his way out.

Constance dragged her sorry ass to the bathroom and threw up the breakfast she never had.

* * *

Constance sucked it up and downed as many Aspirins as she gauged wouldn't kill her. She stepped gingerly into a stale uniform and tied her hair back into a messy tail with a sickly yellow bandana, the colour was meant to cheer her but it just reminded her of what had come out of her stomach lately. She shied every door closed with a whisper and had a cup of coffee with a little hair of the dog that bit her to take out the morning after sting. Sure she'd been to parties with her friends, even the occasional Soc beer blast, but never had she gotten drunk lonely. The worst hangovers came from lonesome drinking.

She took her sweet time approaching the diner, not wanting to face the greasy mess that awaited her inside. She'd probably murder anyone who even brushed her booty. But this caution was unnecessary, the diner had one old goat in it, the rest was tumble weed country.

"You know Doll, all them hoods are hung-over this mornin' in a gutter somewhere. Or, -god forbid- in church!" Gertie of Gertie's diner screeched as she wiped down the glossy counter. It was a plump, 40-something woman who owned the joint, hair bleached to the nines, lips pursed red, and an attitude the size of Texas. Constance held her dear, but she was a slave driver when it came to shifts. Sunday or no. "I reckon we'll be sitting pretty here for a while on our fat bottoms." She continued, looking steady on Connie's exhausted expression. "So how 'bout you glance over next week's shifts on the table over there, take yourself tomorrow and tonight off and give 'er to Cynthia." She lifted her chin towards a paper-strewn corner booth. Cynthia was also a waitress here, but they never worked together. Cynthia had a hard enough time concentrating as it was.

Constance sat down and propped the paper before her bloodshot eyes. The words swam and her head spun as if she was on an underwater carnival ride. She was glad to let her 'focus' slip when she heard the door tinkle with a customer.

* * *

Cherry Valence shifted the door open quietly and glanced about, unsure as to whether it was actually open or not (or if Connie was even working). As much as Cherry valued Connie as a friend, she was ashamed to discover she never really asked her much about her life. It was a Soc habit she shared amongst her closer friends to assume that everything important would be revealed through gossip or some other means. It was why she was so astonished to learn from flighty Donna that Connie had a brother, and sadly enough for she didn't even know this, that her (and his) surname was Winston. Why was it that she knew Marcia, Kimberly, Susan, and all her other vapid, mean-spirited Soc friends like the back of her hand while the kind, funny, middleclass girls (with some depth!) she knew near to nothing about?

Connie looked almost as confused as the feelings boxed inside Cherry's chest felt as they struggled to hide from her inquisitive, kaleidoscope eyes. Cherry asked with a look to take a seat across from Connie who returned it with a nod. She shuffled in, as awkward as could be in the only skirt length she felt comfortable in, conservative mid-calf.

"Connie, is that brother of yours Dallas Winston?" Cherry asked in her trademark quick brutality, getting all the words out before she could be shot down.

Connie's eyes didn't widen in fear or dance in fondness like Cherry had imagined. Instead she rubbed them with dainty little fists and blinked, not in shock, but in exasperation.

"That's been a mighty popular question of late Cherry Valence, and I have an even more celebrated answer; Yes, Dallas Winston is my brother, has been for a long time."

Cherry felt elated, until her heart began to constrict. He was a hood, a jailbird, trouble in its purest form. No way no how could they ever meet for her opposites attraction was fast building. Goodbye Connie, Cherry both said and thought. This'll be the last time we talk for a while, till I can gather my head about me, she said just for herself.

* * *

With a certain degree of awkward, and words unspoken passing between them, Constance said goodbye to Cherry (whom she felt was being particularly dramatic, but who knows why), wishing she could take her leave too. Gertie sensed this and slipped into the back for a minute or two. Out she popped with a steaming silver flask of god knows what and a dismissal.

"Hot coffee and whiskey, it'll take the edge off the sun on your walk home." She said poking the stopper over the lip. "I'm letting you off the hook now, but I'm taking you on tomorrow evening no ifs and buts about it."

**[A/N: This was extremely fun and sad to write...drunk Constance=a headache for everyone. If you like the drama or hate it...a review is the only way I'll know how to change it :*]**


	4. Chapter 4: Not Fade Away

_**Not fade away**_

**[Disclaimer: I do not own the Outsiders, you flatter me sir.]**

**[A/N: _Tons of views, but no _re_views_. That's fine though, for as much as I would love you to drop me a review (criticism, witticism, love, hate, requests, even questions!) or some favourites or follows, I'm content with my fic just being seen! I try to update as often as possible, but motivation is hard to come by. So I deposited a minor cliff-hanger!]**

**[On Reviews: I've enabled Anonymous Reviews for the time being for account-less and/or discreet readers.] **

* * *

Two-Bit woke up with a yawn and a shudder. The springs of the Curtis couch poked through the worn down corduroy directly into his spine, the grating sound that came from his shirtless shifting was enough to make his skin crawl. He had been slightly out of it the night previous, but he wasn't drunk. Just vacant enough to take off his shirt but not his shoes. The bathing sunlight said it was noon as good as any watch he would never wear, so far into noon that the house he had squatted was empty of working class occupants. The only warm body living up in the residence was Ponyboy, staring out the window, mind reeling.

"Whatcha starin' down out there Ponyboy, intruders?" Two-Bit yawned, swallowing raunchy beer breath.

"The only intruder 'round here is you." Ponyboy said, crinkling his nose at Two-Bit stretching. Two-Bit could have been hurt by his lack of joking, but he excused it. It seemed in his early teen years Pony was convinced of his unimportance in the gang and his family. He may then have been jealous of Two-Bit fitting into every conversation and invitation, but it was fleeting.

Two-Bit stumbled over tightening his belt. His muscles flexed as he clamped an arm over Pony's chest and landed a knuckle laden noogie on the kid's oiled head. Ponyboy opened his mouth in protest, but it quickly changed into a grin as they sparred. Secretly, he was thankful of the fact that Two-Bit wouldn't yell like Darry or try and sooth like Soda. Sometimes, a friend who took everything in the light of day was all that could possibly be needed to fend off the dark.

* * *

The two spent the rest of the 'morning' in hot pursuit of Two-Bit's elusive t-shirt. They soon came to the conclusion that the house needed a good dusting, and that he must have taken the cotton garb off somewhere not on the miniscule property. Two-Bit decided that on a Sunday in this neighbourhood a shirt was optional, also considering the heat was a given.

That settled, the two took a jean jacket for Two-Bit, a pack of cigs for Pony, a beer for the both of them (though Ponyboy was more likely to pass it off on the next of their gang to come along than to drink), and a walk into whatever would take them.

* * *

The walk was going ever so quietly when Two-Bit remembered where his shirt had gotten off to. The realization was so hilarious to him, that he pulled Pony to the curb for a laugh.

"As it turns ol' Pone, my shirts over at Buck's. Hopefully in the trash considerin' it's 95% pure Constance upchuck at the moment." He said gasping a little.

He told the tale of the puke placed ever so kindly on Dallas's shoes by a very drunk Constance. Shortly before she had blacked out, he was taking his shirt off to clean a little puke off her pretty face. What she did next had him in peals of unmanly giggling, Pony too, once he told him. Constance Winston had done the obligatory blush, and then, AND THEN, she rubbed a small, cold hand over his rumble buffed ab work. No way could Dallas have been angrier, and boozy Two-Bit more amused.

"So, you 'n Connie get along real good?" Pony said with obvious incredulous. He was getting very punky. Especially to those who could whip his ass sideways.

But Two-Bit was still stung.

"Man o' Man. I've seen a better head on a root beer float from the way that broad acts. She downed herself five cold ones and turned down about twenty guys before I took off. Chicks like that are a challenge, but they sure ain't worth the trouble."

* * *

As the boys laughed about the incidence, it hit Constance like a sledgehammer to the sensibilities. She was laying, face engulfed in a pillow, when the shards of her memory came to her, full picture. A groan poured from her entire body, echoing through the mattress she was burrowing into with embarrassment. She had acted like a complete clod that night, a floosy too. To get so worked up over a boy's body was shameful on its own, but then she just had to touch it. Never could she show her face at Buck's dive again, never could she ever speak to Gary the Ginger (she couldn't for the life of her recollect exactly what they had discussed), and never would she ever be able to look Two-Bit in his mocking silver expression.

She pulled her peach crocheted blanket tightly to her chin. Things had been developing so well that night, before she was ditched with an unfulfilled promise of return. Dismissing these thoughts, she began thinking back. Constance came to the conclusion that it had been far too long since her last boyfriend. The cream walls practically spun as her mind remembered; Styled, grease-free black hair and a Soc to beat all. Theodore was great until he wasn't; a bright, happy, completely selfless individual. It was with a touch of disgrace that Constance recalled the reason for the infamous split of T+C. She had gotten bored.

* * *

It was only mildly distressing to her then, and even less now. People called her shallow for her actions, the swift cut-off at the drive-in, but she viewed it as only humane. The boy was shy when it came to deep, entertaining conversation. He would laugh softly -almost as an afterthought- through her jokes, intentional or no. He would agree with just about any opinion she could conjure, but when she got too passionate on the subject, changed it. He had soft, warm hands and a same trait face. Sea glass eyes were handsome and rare, portraying his average intelligence. Handsome. That was a word thrown at her a lot.

* * *

"Ooh he's handsome." Donna and Cynthia had chirped minutes before the relationship had become official.

X

"Wouldn't you feel a life fulfilled with this fine, handsome young man?" Her Uncle had debated minutes after word of the breakup had found him.

X

It had seemed to her that her Uncle was more in love with Theodore than she was, or at least the idea of Theodore in the family. Her Uncle was a working tradesmen for most of his prime years; a roofer though he looked more like an accountant, and talked like one. She supposed that the idea of a college material man seeking his adoptive child was enticing. The life dear, brainy uncle had always wanted to give her, but was far too busy with his criticism and work to achieve. A bitter old trout he was, but everyone has a dream. No one is ever content.

* * *

A certain someone's discontentment with his current singularity coincided almost perfectly with that of Constance's. Of course, Constance didn't know at the time just how hard Steve was willing to play, she just took advantage of his preference towards her to fill a void. The almost concave nature of her stony heart. No matter how much many would regret the decision to toy with someone's emotions (especially someone vying for returned feelings, or at least recognition), Constance could not see a fault in what was purely amusement.

As she kicked her blankets back and beat her hangover upside the head, it was clear to her (but not necessarily realized) that this was all for the sake of amusement, and a hidden need for retribution. Two-Bit may have been the only guy to spurn her in years, Theodore may have not given up enough of a fight, but Steve, Steve was for the taking.

* * *

A fucking infatuation. That is all Darrel Curtis could glean from the incessant ramblings of Steve Randle. Randle pleaded love at first sight, Darry thought maybe that waitress uniform needed an altering. Steve yakked about how tuff she was, Darry thought she sounded like a stone-cold bitch (perhaps perfect for the stone-cold jerk). But considering their two, maybe three chance meetings the amount of shit Steve had to say was impressive. Connie was now on a pedestal unreachable even to the man who put her there, Steve was stuck.

Evidently, even on a regular basis Darry had no patience for 'everybody loves Constance' (Two-Bit and Dallas were the only ones who seemed able to talk bad, Johnny was also tolerable in his uncaring state). Today he was prepped to burst. Steve had sidled up to him as he took the pathway on to the chipped door. Darry had a bundle of shingles on each shoulder, easily 40 pounds each, every pound setting its weight x2.

"Hey Super-Dope. You're old and wi-ise, do you think we'll win the rumble tonight?" Steve drawled in his annoying nasal tone.

The rumble. What was once on the forefront of everyone's mind had taken a backseat to the Constance news, and Darry resented that. Steve got some credit for re-establishing his care. It seemed that the Socs needed desperately to be dialled down, their violence and temperament against all things grease was rising. No one seemed to gauge the severity of this, except for experience hardened Darrel. Perhaps a gang meeting was in order, just to make sure they were all on their toes.

* * *

Constance was enjoying her short-lived relief from the hell that was customer service in the food industry. She needed time to plot, for sweet, innocent little Connie was no more. She wanted to woo and destroy Steve Randle. She needed to vent. She sighed down at her canary coloured toes (which she was currently touching up with lacquer), she was shallow, petty, and self-absorbed. The things a million people had made her out to be had turned out to become the closest to the truth. Her eyes welled up a little as she became intent on her task, she was smart wasn't she? Funny too? Maybe even nice when she wanted to be? Why couldn't anyone just take her for what she was, and look past her fleeting attentions and desire to appeal? Even soft-spoken Theodore had called her out on how her looks and confident attitude gained her more than she deserved. And no one could like her for her personality more than he had, no one ever could. So why even try?

She almost lost it, her calm indifferent composure, when the land line rang. Its trill sounded through the white shag carpeted den, she was perfectly alone (not great for her state of mind) and felt elation at the prospect of an invitation from Patty, Cynthia, or maybe even a repeat performance of social teachings from Dallas. Constance didn't admit to herself her blatant excitement, even as she leapt for the phone above her bun-head. She held it as close to her face as possible without smudging the beauty mask she was employing to 'firm' her 'ageing' skin. This excitement was short-lived. Gertie was re-gifting tomorrows morning shift, apparently the hangover pity had dispersed.

She hung up. The climax was gone and Constance had never felt more alone.

* * *

After going to bed at 7 o'clock, Constance needed someone to be there, wherever there was. Her aunt and uncle had gotten back from their date late, and even though they were 'there' she had never had a real connection with either of them. She felt them to be too dull for her bright. In the morning, after a freezing cold shower that she regarded as a wakeup call, Patricia came to her side.

They hadn't spoken since meeting those few days ago on main. Patty didn't work, but her boyfriend was a fulltime job. A real Soc through n through, Theo's best friend, and Marcia's on again off. Randy was a child at heart, immature, and biased towards all. Patty brought him down to earth with her raspy voice and soulful eyes, all could agree she was best for him. A boy who never knew what he wanted.

Randy was done with Marcia at the moment, so he scurried back to Patricia with a head full of opinions on how he never wanted to be rich ever again, how Marcia was an idiot, and how wouldn't it be nice to fall off the grid for a while. Patty took it all with rolled eyes and a cigarette, Constance just thought he had a thing for 'CIAs'. When he left her again, she would take the time to hang out with Constance, and scout out the selection. It was an arrangement that Constance laughed about and Patty shrugged off.

Currently, an anomaly was occurring for when Patty was in a relationship she could disappear for weeks, yet here she was. Constance was so thankful that she allowed her to fill up the room with tobacco stench and never once felt tempted to partake. They chatted intelligently, giggled in retrospect over the Buck's fiasco, and made Constance look like a bombshell for her altered shift. They had to be prepared if Steve popped by, Patty pushed this point and supported the whole endeavour. No wonder they were such good friends, two heartless cynics who laughed in the face of love.

* * *

The two of a kind trekked over to the diner, Patty had put out her cig with an edgy white go-go boot (a present from Donna) and started a rousing debate on the merits of being middleclass.

"When we spoke last, ya know 'bout that lil' grease…it had me thinkin' 'bout how maybe we shouldn't pick the Soc side. I mean, look at Randy, even he might not by the sounds of him!" Patty said in her monotone emotion. Constance was a little surprised at the 360 turn of opinion.

"Patty, I thought you was right the first time! Greasers, well, they're a flaky bunch from my understanding. Dallas for example, who even knows if they'll put up a fight?" Constance exclaimed.

"So why're you chasing after 'em, huh? Oh honey, I feel we're just overreacting. Nothing'll change 'round here. It never does." Patty sighed. Connie got it, they must just be overreacting, - reading into things too deep- but if that was true, then why did it feel so false? The two dropped the conversation, bumping and pushing all the way to Gertie's.

* * *

Rumble buzz was in the air. Darry, being the unofficial gang 'leader' decided to harness that energy and grind those Socs into the ground, watching the privilege drain out of them. Steve was early, the meeting spot (as he had suggested during their previous encounter) would be Gerties, so he was hoping for some glimpse of the hard-to-get Constance. And glimpse her he did, he glimpsed her looking the best yet, all legs and figure, and gorgeous face. Unknown to him, this reaction worked into the waitresses favour oh to well. She skated up to his stare, flashing a behind the back thumbs up to a corner booth seated Patricia.

"Steve Randle, I have felt just plain ugly for the way I spoke to you the other night when you was only trying to walk me here." She said in a baby-doll sullen voice. "I just want to make it up to you, maybe a date's in order?" Constance batted her eyelashes, looking out from underneath them. How anyone could fall for this out-of-character act was beyond her, but Stevie sure fell hard.

"Aw sure Connie." He said reaching out to shake her hand, he used this as an avenue to flex his pride and joy muscles. "Tonight, I'll take you out, right before the rumble!" He smiled, then frowned. "I ain't got no dough though, so we'll walk there and call it an outin'."

She smiled at him, a walk! No wonder that Evie had called it quits, him offering a walk as a date and no mention of how she was to get home as he had to go to his 'rumble'. Chances are she'd have to walk home too, and alone to boot! Deep breath, bear through, and turn away. That's all she could manage as she fell back into the late breakfast rush. She almost wished she still had that dinner shift lined up as an out. At least Dallas had seemed to forget about a greaser 'babysitter'.

* * *

By some act of god, the whole Curtis gang crammed into a single booth with little to no injury. The close quarters didn't stop Dallas from lighting a cigarette and nearly singing Two-Bit's left side-burn. Everyone was far too antsy to be there, in a hot crowded diner, but things needed to be discussed. Besides, pre-rumble grub was a tradition.

"This is an ordinary rumble guys, no switches, pipes, pool-cues, heaters, nothing. It's skin, nice n easy as long as no one does anything stupid." Darry lectured from behind a massive pile of fries. The rest of the boys were more invested in their food than his talk, a rumble was same old same old. Something to enjoy, not worry about. "You guys should be ready for someone pulling something too, these Socs are bolder than ever." Darry finished sternly. They all nodded fluently with understanding. They had all heard about the broken bottle incident and Tim Shepard.

* * *

According to lore, last night Timothy Shepard was jumped by a Soc. A lone Soc. Never before would a Soc have risked a fight with a most definitely armed greaser alone. It seemed that these Socs were getting bored with what was 'safe', it was becoming more than a feud of social status, and these guys were burning with an undefined hatred. Anyhow, Tim Shepard was caught by surprise and didn't have a chance to enable his blade before the Soc had sliced him from temple to chin with a broken Coke bottle. It took the beating of seven Socs that evening to calm Shepard, his typically even temper was now seeking a brutal revenge.

All of the gang was willing to exact that revenge tonight, if a grease had cut up another grease it would have been different, a Soc doing it required a special kind of punishment. Everyone broke the silence from which they fell by mowing down on their plates and chirping each other about who was likely to take out the most Soc. When the meeting/warning was through they all dispersed, leaving Steve to wait out the remaining hours of Constance's shift and Sodapop to attempt to quench his above average teen hunger and thirst. Two-Bit on the other hand bolted as soon as he could, once again he never made eye contact with Constance. Not hard, considering Dallas had refused the whole gang of speaking to her, for her behaviour had placed her 'on the outs'.

* * *

Thanking whatever watched her from above for the fact that the dear greasers had not taken up in her section, Constance continued her serving and tip taking. She noticed the majority of the gang leave, Ponyboy didn't return her wave which was odd considering she had found him most agreeable. He only looked at her, hands in pockets, and slouched out, gaze ahead. Dallas flipped her off when she attempted to greet him, it seemed she had dwindled away his last bout of trust or acceptance. Two-Bit wouldn't even acknowledge she was working, it made her disappointment in him last night, - and the embarrassment she felt about him today- turn into a grudge she could sure as hell hold. The older brother, (Darry) seemed civil enough, but almost tired of her. She couldn't imagine why considering they had never spoken. Johnny made tough though, nodding at her, she didn't understand his act in the least. When Soda and Steve left shortly after, Soda made his way over to her before the door.

"We're headed back to the DX, and I thought I'd say howdy. Haven't seen you in ages, Dally forbids we seek your company." Soda said with a smirk and a kind handshake. She didn't correct him that it had only been a few days.

"I feel like what we did was a mistake, I've had enough of this 'greaser' lifestyle." She said in a whisper tone, hiding her words from the distant Steve.

"They do seem a little chilly with ya, don't they?" He frowned. They were nearly the same height, oddly enough. "I imagine they have their reasons though." He winked like a twitch, that boy was sure bad at winking.

"They do and so do I." Constance replied hotly. Dally had hidden her away her whole life, Two-Bit was an ass, Ponyboy was acting like he was too good for her, Steve was a pig, Johnny omitted her, Darry probably hated her too, and well, Soda didn't help matters much. She could only imagine how they talked behind her back, discussing why she was the outsider who couldn't see in. They probably laughed about her behaviour at the bar, no she was no greaser, and they knew it. She spun on her skates, away from Soda and Steve and everyone who was making her life humiliating.

* * *

Her shift flew like the wind after that encounter. Before Constance knew it, she was back at the diner waiting on her date. Of all the ways to turn down someone she would never stand them up, besides, the plan with Patty was still a go.

Steve strolled up, the first time she had ever seen him without a DX uniform. Instead he was in a muscle shirt, covered up with a sleeveless jean jacket. This was a boy who liked to flex. She had changed out of her uniform for the 'date'. Slick black pedal-pushers accentuated her legs, and a tight grey collared top (sleeveless as well) conformed to her other assets. As always, there was a bandana on her person, a lavender one with music note patterns tied 'round her pale neck. She let her hair fly loose and thick and makeup adorned (but didn't overpower) her features. She wanted to look enticing, but if she was to walk everywhere this evening she also had to be comfortable.

"Pants on a girl, can't pretend I don't like it more than skirts!" Steve whistled darkly. Constance would've smacked him had her mood not been contained.

The rest of the trek continued, she didn't know where they were going, but just followed his lead. Steve didn't hold her hand or compliment her further, he just began the 'I'll tell you about me, feel free to add your details along the way'. He talked for what seemed like hours on his profession of cars (but not a lick about his personal life) as they pushed further into sketchier neighbourhoods, this was not going as planned. All she really wanted was for him to kiss her, she hadn't been kissed in weeks! The whole idea was to win him along a little then move on to better things, even Constance felt the wrongness of this, but still required a relationship. Any relationship. She detested that she couldn't be alone, a major flaw in her genetic code.

Finally they reached their destination, an empty lot filled with greasers of all shapes and sizes. Constance grimaced a little, remembering the rumble and all that would ensue.

"This is where I leave ya, listen I liked tonight. You're a good time, ya know?" Steve said already walking towards the action. Constance's suspicions were right. He meant for her to walk back home alone. Quite the gentleman. But she didn't walk home, as soon as she saw the first punch thrown at the Socs arrival, she was hooked. She backed up into a tiny alley, slightly overrun by thorny shrubbery, and watched.

* * *

Constance picked her way around the broken glass and cigarette butt coated asphalt of the alley floor in her satin pumps, a luxury that she hated to wear except for when seduction was key. In hindsight it seemed Steve was more seduced by himself. A small cement step jutted in cracks out from the weathered brick, it was on this throne that she took her place, the weeds cushions for her aching feet (now forcefully bare). As she re-focused her attentions, the rumble escalated quickly. What started out as a pleasurable performance was now getting ugly. The Socs advanced in their white cuffed pants, and despite the violence, all Constance could think on was the impracticality of wearing white fucking pants for a roll around in the mud with a sweaty greaser.

* * *

Her eyes strained intently as her mind was jerked in another direction, Ponyboy was there, fighting, but not quite winning. A Soc, slightly smaller than his companions was throwing hooks left and right, a second glance though revealed that Pony was in no immediate danger. He blocked every shot, and though not taking many himself, the ones that he did connected, cracking the 'armour' of an ego. He didn't look fazed, almost bored actually, as if he didn't see the point. In truth, neither did Constance. If the greasers won (however that may be), the Socs would just jump 'em harder, get more cops on their side, and throw a better 'victory' party the next time around. She had heard many things about rumbles from friends and even a few movies, but from what she saw it was just an endless loop of a vent for teen males.

The fight only lasted about 5 minutes. In that time Constance spotted the rest of the Curtis gang and Tim Shepard taking the helm of the battle. By what she could glean from the situation, Steve was an amazing fighter. He pounded through his path with an intensity unrivalled by his surroundings. With every defeat handed out, a shrill war cry emanated from him. She rolled her eyes, the show boating and revenge combo was insanely self-indulgent on his part.

"Ya'll oughtta have somethin' to fight for like Steve." She murmured sarcastically to herself, picking at the city-torn foliage at her side. It was almost endearing, whatever drove him to fight like that. The realization that Steve may have complexity of character was confusing based on every other trait he displayed. It made her want a cigarette, but she wouldn't break her sobriety from smoke for that boy.

* * *

The rumble, as it were, did not exactly pan out in grease favour. The hoods were better fighters, that they all knew, but something drove the Soc mindset to success. Maybe they were dodging humiliation, maybe they saw some greater purpose to it all, and maybe they just wanted it more. It may have been a stalemate too, if that dumb Soc hadn't pulled a most un-Soc-like switch right in the heat of things. This caused the greasers to disperse in disgust, no way in hell would they fight out of bounds. All in all, it was not the deciding tangle they had all hoped for, but it did prove something; that fight would come.

Two-Bit settled down a frothing Curly Shepard as he attempted to pick the thick glass from his cheek. Apparently, Mr. Switch was not the only Soc to break code, and with a broken bottle too!

"Get your hands outta my face Half-Wit!" Curly growled, swatting at Two-Bit's hands and throwing out the much loathed moniker.

"Unless you wanna scar like your brother'll get I suggest you let me take out this fucking Coke crasher! I swear to god you got yourself in this situation just to chase his goddamn legacy." Two-Bit sneered without comedy. Ordinarily a rumble would have juiced him up some, but this ungrateful little sleaze was causing his last nerves to fray.

They were both propped up side by side on the chain link fence, Two-Bit surveying the torn up face of Curly, and Curly edging on the unsmiling face of Two-Bit. No one likes to back down a rumble, but what with the skin-only rule broke, it would've been a massacre if the greasers followed suit. Two-Bit himself had been tempted to rip out his shiny black switch, if only to scare the offenders back down. It put him in bad humour, and if that could happen to Two-Bit, you can bet the rest were just as peeved.

* * *

Constance hoisted herself up and wiped the dust of neglect from her clammy palms onto her black bottoms with little to no concern for appearance. She wanted a closer look at the cleanup. One alley side was made up of a relatively stout, flat roofed shed, too tempting for a girl craving a bird's eye view. A stack of broken slated milk crates teetered against the sheds siding, precarious to be sure, but she liked the risk. The 'seductive' shoes remained off as she scrambled awkwardly to the top box. For an attractive young woman, grace eluded her as much as clumsiness plagued. Once balanced to the best of her abilities, Constance raked her carefully combed hair into her bandana loop, sacrificing style for some semblance of safety and sight. About 4 feet remained from the top of her head to the roof top position she sought, interrupted only by a rickety eave. Her arms reached determinedly, successfully grasping the rusty lip of that tepid water filled eave. Constance employed what little upper body strength she had earned from tray toting and occasional women's softball to push herself up and over. As her weight pressed down into her palms the aforementioned lip dug deep, slicing a not-so-clean cut. This caused a surge in power by Constance, an impressive roll securing her place at the tar coated top.

From this angle, the rumble grounds looked like field from 1812's events. Not many people remained, only greasers looking exceptionally worse for wear. She spotted Dallas under a sickly tree, blood matting his more than fair hair, bruises blotting his papery skin. He was speaking animatedly (an over use of hand-gestures) to an enthralled Johnny. Johnny, mouth agape, had blood pouring from his puffed lip. This seemed to be his only injury, - Constance had noticed him fighting beside Ponyboy who had perhaps taken the worst of it. It was then that she was most glad for her unknown position, Dallas's thin frame was coiled and tense, and any anger towards her would almost certainly be nuclear.

On this roof top hideaway, nothing was seen except branches from past electrical storms. There were no doors leading downwards, and not a single set of stairs. It was unlikely that any, but for a delinquent on the run, would ever have seen the surface. Unfortunately, this scummy oasis of the perfect observatory was a short-lived visit for Constance. A gigantic broken branch of dead elm proved unseen by her preoccupied eyes, so far out of her mind was where her steps should place that she tripped. Tripped over the branch and toppled over the side. Only 9 feet of a fall did Constance take like a limp ragdoll, but 9 feet too many?

**[A/N: This cliffhanger may be a little self indulgently over-dramatic, how will it ever pan out :o Tell me what you think of where the story's headed...especially all this Constance character development, oh my my. Favourite, Follow, Review, if you've got the time and the need...oh and please let me know if I'm making someone sickeningly out of character, I'm afraid I'm not aware of the damage until it's pointed out to me!]**


	5. Chapter 5: Sentimental Fool

_**Sentimental fool**_

**[A/N: Remember dear readers; I only know YOU (not a view number) are there when you favourite, follow, or review-And by review I mean; Critiscm, Wittiscms, Love, Hate, Requests, Questions, etc. I'm pretty much an open book and I hope you will be too in the review ;) (Trust me...I can take it.)]**

**[On Chapter Titles: Each title is that of a 50's-60's Rock-a-billy song whose lyrics relate to events or feels happening or expressed in a chapter, I encourage you to listen to the song or read the lyrics for greater _depth _*snort*.]**

An impressive thud I make. That's the first thought that stumbled through Constance's now groggy skull. She would've rolled her eyes at her own stupidity had it not stung so much. At best she had a concussion, at worst she'd need a fucking lobotomy or something. Or she could've broken a limb; she shook her mildly shredded leg to check for paralysation, fortunately (?) she sure as hell felt the sting. Waitressing was going to get worse, but it was still a go. That is, depending on the condition of her face. If there was no chance of tips, her wages would go to shit and she'd quit for sure. She slammed her lids closed, forcing out the stars light. A headache was now taking over, and she was just about to 'nap' a little bit of her misery away when a smooth hand started jerking her shoulder.

She rolled over to avoid confrontation, her butt was embarrassingly shown in this position, but she doubted anyone would mind. Constance felt a scuffed sneaker scrape the sliver of exposed midriff.

"You ain't dead yet, are ya Connie?" The voice of Johnny Cade murmured in false gruffness.

"Mmph. Maybe. Maybe not." It was all she could bring herself to reply with, never too injured to be snarky. Honestly; she was glad Johnny was still kicking around. Seconds before her fall, as if luck was out too have her, all the greasers had kind off dispersed back into nothingness. Except Johnny, apparently. She forced her eyes to flutter open out of politeness and gratitude, but she almost snapped them shut when her stare met the black abyss, the window to Johnny's soul. Good god his eyes were intense. He offered his hand, held out ready to grasp and pull her too her feet. And that he did, for such a marred face his hands had a soft innocence. Surprisingly, her gravel studded legs held up.

"Why'd you go jumpin' off roofs? Need somethin' to live for?" Johnny said with genuine confusion. He looked like a sweet kid. "I mean, I ain't one to talk, I've always thought 'bout cuttin' it short. 16 years is a little too short for me though, ya know?" Ok, not really a kid.

"I didn't jump, silly." She said with the sweetest grin she could muster while brushing the rocks from her pockets. She really did not need the news of an attempted suicide to reach Dallas and his muddled emotions. "I fell, quite by accident I might add." Her usually New York cut tone turned more than its usual fair share of South. He was won over quick enough, she might even say he was endeared.

"Heck." He said rubbing the back of his neck, retreating into his shell. "You look pretty rough, is there anywhere I can take ya? To Dallas maybe? Or Sodapop?" Johnny asked from under his thick, greasy bangs and dainty charcoal eyelashes.

Constance groaned and kicked her bare feet, unsure of it all. With the thought of facing Dallas, or telling Soda and facing Steve, she lost even the energy to retrieve her shoes. What she said next came with a sigh of defeat.

"Two-Bit. He might deign to fix me up."

* * *

The pair bustled along vacant, busted lamp streets. Johnny was shorter than her by some inches, making him a solid support system for her temporary limp. When she hooked forearm to elbow around his neck and shoulders he didn't flinch or complain. With her full weight upon him, they reached a patio stoned walkway leading to a homey looking house with a small trailer rigged up to the side. It looked in need of repair, but the garden out front was well tended with neat beds and only slightly wilting flowers. It was nearly midnight at that point, time flew with Constance's crippled pace. It flew right past them. Not a single light was on in the entire contraption, but for a single halo glistening in a lower window. Chances are he was asleep and she was done, destined to seek Dallas and his wrath. But Johnny soldiered on, dragging her onto the front step and knocking sporadically on the door. A few rustles and bumps of waking drifted out to them. Constance took this time to turn to Johnny and make what could be considered as small talk.

"So my dearest Knight in Shining Armour, what were you doin' out in that lot all by your lonesome?" She inquired, thoughts already moving on from the menial conversation.

"I was just tryin' to lay low, catch a break and a bed out there." He mumbled, blushing.

"Lay low from what? Them Socs can't get you that soon after a rumble." She said with her full attention. It was true, it was a rumble code; No joshin' a day before or after a rumble.

"My parents was fightin'." He whispered to ground as if he shouldn't have said a word. Constance dropped the subject, she knew as well as any that parents were a rough subject. You either had their unconditional love or their unconditional neglect, you can guess who got the short end of that particular stick. She wasn't wanting to push that conversational point any farther, and thanks to Two-Bit's emergence, she didn't have too.

He stepped out onto the step with them, shirtless and naked but for his jeans and a belt. Hastily applied by the looks of it. He shied the battered screen shut, as if trying not to rattle all that it contained. He caught her gaze, eyeing him cooly.

"Now Constance, you stick with your lookin' now, ya hear? I don't wantchya makin' me uncomfortable at my very own residence." He said with the annoying cocked eyebrow. She wanted to stab him with the switch blade dangling from his fingers, all lazy, but instead, opted to look away. It was then that he noticed the blood. "For the love of all things holy, the hell happened to you? Fall outta a window or somethin'?"

"Actually…" Johnny began before he launched timidly, but with some brotherly confidence, into the whole tale. Constance just shifted awkwardly and hoped she had sought the right person.

* * *

Seated at the Matthew's kitchen table, Constance became patient to Two-Bit's nurse. He buzzed around her brutalized face, legs, and arms with cotton balls and peroxide. Johnny had long since abandoned her to the premise.

"You're gonna look awful tuff these next couple a weeks, Constance. Tuff and stupid." He said like a know-it-all while cleaning the deep slice on her palm. "You're gonna get scars, bruises, everything. People are gonna think you get beat or somethin'." She just scowled and pulled her hand away jerkily. "Now hold up, we don't want an infection, do we? There's rust in this here cut." Two-Bit warned, trying to get a grip back. With no success, he moved on to her face.

"You better not get that shit in my hair, I don't want to be no blonder than I am." Constance said with an ounce of threat. It was dark in that kitchen (according to Two-Bit, the power was cut) and she didn't trust the steadiness of his presumably intoxicated hands in the least.

"It would be an improvement. I like 'em blonde, blonder than you." He said sleepily, just as the bottle he had clutched (with the same degree of safety as his switchblade) slipped from his hands. Constance shot to her feet, and fell right back down from the newfound weakness in her ankles. The ¾ full bottle of would-be bleach soaked one ribbon of now not-so-naturally highlighted hair. Fuck this, she thought, and just laid there, dripping in peroxide, and misfortune.

Two-Bit yawned.

* * *

Only an hour later and Constance was still in Two-Bit's shower desperately trying to undo the damage he placed on her locks, and washing the remnants of blood from her fall-sore body. It was pointless. During the half-hour it had taken her to realize she needed to wash it out 'now' the bleaching had succeeded. Two-Bit pounded at the door.

"I'm real sorry Constance, 'bout your hair, but you need to get out now. Get some sleep. You can crash here no problemo." He attempted to convince over the rushing water and steam. She turned off the showerhead and lowered herself out gingerly. A scruffy towel was hung on the knob and she quickly tightened it around her chest, unconcerned about prior use. Her hand wiped away the fog sticking to the cracked, spotted mirror that hung off the plaster. That blonde streak was unsightly to say the least. This new dilemma was a last straw, making Constance's short-temper lash out, almost forcing her hand to punch the glass. It stopped three inches away, dead momentum. Her emotions and ideas were getting stupid, she thought tiredly. She had never cared much for pain, or talking about 'feelings'. She'd bottle up all those worthless tears till she burst, usually all over an unsuspecting witness. She creaked open the thin, wooden door. Constance needed a witness then, a shoulder to cry on.

* * *

Two-Bit was perched on the gungy sofa's arm rest, he anticipated her emergence. He felt like a real asshole though, the fact that he didn't even do it on purpose made him cringe. She'd never believe him. But why the hell should she care? It was just hair for christ's sake. But then again, what was more important to a greaser (him included) than their trademark do?

"Glo-ry, if that don't make you look like a little rebel." Two-Bit scrambled to his feet as a nearly naked Constance stumbled into the room. The blonde streak above her left ear glowed in the near-to-no lighting. She just looked at him real blank like, her eyes filled with watery despair and her nose started to scrunch. She sneezed a big sneeze before the tears started falling. She made hasty to wipe them (and the accompanying mascara) off her heat flushed cheeks. Two-Bit started a little at this change in events. A house with two females he did live in, but his barmaid mother was well past caring and his tyke of a sister wasn't quite into really driven teen tears. This very sister must have woke at the renewed noise in a previously silent house, for she shuffled and bounded, slipper-foot, into the scene that way only a kid of 6 could manage. Little Kimberly took charge of comforting in an instant by latching onto Constance's bare leg and cooing.

"Well. Ain't you gonna hug her Keith-y?" Kim looked up, asking at the still stunned Two-Bit. Only Kimmy and his mother Brenda could say his birth name without a degree of awkwardness.

"Aw heck Kimmy. I don't think I-,"

Constance, a fairly quiet, reserved crier, gave a huge shudder and sniffle. Two-Bit caved. He took the two long strides over to Constance and pulled her into his muscled chest. She was very cold. What is it that girls were always chilly, and guys were always burning up to the touch? He hoped, despite the animosity between them, that he could bring her a lil' warmth. When she had finally gulped down her last shiver and calmed her shallow breaths, Two-Bit herded her over to the couch. Noticing she was still clad in only a towel, and that her dripping hair must have been source for at least some of the quaking, he left her with Kimmy to fetch a flannel.

* * *

Two-Bit wound his way into the tiny storage-closet bedroom he called home. It contained little to no except for two stacked queen sizes (almost a luxury if they weren't laid –without support- flat on the ground), stark but for one fluffy and patched comforter. Also in the chamber was a few stacks of dry, folded clothes lining the walls (one thing his mother would never tire of was babying Keith) and a collection of magazines scattered across the hardwood floor (these included Rodeo, Car, the occasional Captain America, and some…Adult rags). Not bothering to try and flick on the one bare bulb dangling from the ceiling, Two-Bit reached over and grabbed a thick plaid shirt from the top of a nearby stack. He ducked back out of the low ceiling and made his way sleepily to the girls.

When he returned, Constance was still sniffling away.

"Kimmy, you go to bed now, ya hear? Don't want you wasting the juice in that nightlight for nothin'." Two-Bit yawned gesturing for her to scoot.

"Are you gonna read to me tonight? Ma's not home yet." She whisper pleaded up at him.

"I'll read double tomorrow." He sighed with his trade mark grin.

"You promise?" Puppy eyes widened.

"You can bet your bottom dollar!" He said with a hug and a tickle. With that, she left, a sweet little girl with thick strawberry blonde bangs and tight waves. Those blue eyes, though not gray, didn't skip out on the Matthew's silver sheen.

The two of them alone, Two-Bit regarded Constance with a weary hesitation.

"You can stay the night, crash in my room if ya care too…" He offered. He didn't know what her outburst was about, and frankly, didn't care to. Sure, he felt his concern, but why care about someone who characteristically wouldn't care back? She rubbed a cottony sleeve over her stuffed nose.

"Could you just give me a ride Keith? I mean, Two-Bit?" She asked, trying out his real name, but it wouldn't stick. It felt rough on her tongue and so very unsuited towards him.

* * *

Sitting in his beat-up clunker of a car, -the very colour of tobacco spit! - was not the way Constance had seen this evening going at all. She felt weak, crying in front of Two-Bit. In her valid opinion, if you weren't trying to get something, tears were an absolute waste of hydration. She was so angry at herself that conversation was not an option. That is, until Two-Bit decided he needed some navigational assistance.

"I'm just lovin' this driving around in circles bit, Constance. But ya see, we gotta let you off the bus somewhere." He tip-toed around her obviously imbalanced emotions, yet not being able to resist a little poke.

"Just keep going straight and lay off all that exaggeratin'. Soon as we pass Hydrangea, you go down Lakeshore Drive. I'll say it when I see it." She murmured a sighing response. She still wouldn't meet his eyes, it wasn't like he was going to look at her anyway.

As they approached Lakeshore, Constance contemplated for the thousandth time how idiotic its namesake really was. There wasn't a lake for miles, a REAL lake anyhow. The origin of the Drive's label was a small pond in a less than an acre park, it was meant to be charming, but it just came off tacky. The folks in this neighbourhood just used it as a wishing well, unless they were stupid enough to try and fish it like a couple of drunk Socs a while back.

"Here. Let me out on the curb, not worth the bother to pull in and stall out in this piece o' shit car." She said nonchalantly in an attempt to show her mood had leveled. Two-Bit was not convinced.

"Ya sure you all right now? You were practically drownin' less than 5 minutes back…" He posed to her, avoiding eye contact once again.

She just stared at him, pulling his gaze Constance-wise. Back in her own clothes she felt secure, even confident once she knotted her bandana into place, hair away from her face. It only took a second of staring into the side view of his molten irises to make her decision. She had craved a kiss that night, and a kiss she would damn well get, if only to assert herself and nothing more.

* * *

Two-Bit broke his only rule regarding Constance. Look at her as if she was your own sister, nothing more. She was looking at him for too long, it would've seemed odd if he didn't turn to say goodbye. When he did swivel on the musty interior, he couldn't help but feel some very un-sibling like thoughts forming. Her eyes were a little bloodshot, making the green pierce, and her eyelashes looked long and soft, fluttering without all that black gunk. He was more than a little pre-occupied with taking her all in during that one, self-forbidden look, he didn't even realize she was getting nearer.

When her lips crashed into his he couldn't help but return the movement. To him, she tasted like Wrigley's Spearmint, to her, he tasted like the much missed tobacco/nicotine drag. To put it delicately; they were enjoying each other.

After less than ten seconds of shared paradise, Constance pulled away with a none too hidden, wicked, Dallas brand smirk of mischief managed. She had gotten what she wanted for the evening and reeled someone in for a bonus. Constance left him then, his eyes still half-shut with savouring the surprise, and she leapt from the car, slinking up the walk like she was a star in her own Broadway musical.

She still wasn't wearing any shoes.

* * *

The next morning came and went. Another shift. More greasers. Sodapop in a booth (apparently Dallas hadn't REALLY forgotten about his promise). And more unwanted attentions (now quickly swatted away by the stocky swing of Soda).

By the time it was all over, Constance had a pleasant buzz about her. The cuts on her face had scabbed manageably (enough to be covered by powder), the bruises weren't out of place in this neighbourhood, and the slice on her palm had finally stopped bleeding. With a light heart and an airy disposition, she stepped out into the parking lot, reveling in the sunshine baking her clammy skin. It was a beautiful day to be out, she didn't want to go home just then. So she sat, out in the back on a dusty stack of sacks, willing herself a tan. She even let her eyes slide close, listening to the warm breeze tinkle through the ancient shady trees, blocked off from her by chain fences and modern living. This blissful solitude was soon swept away with one scummy addition.

"Connie, what're you doing out here? Aw, it don't matter. Look, I feel like junk. Last night…I didn't even give you a goodnight peck!" He alleged, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders up by his ears. Constance's eyes shook open reluctantly. She didn't even want to play this game anymore. Clearly he hadn't heard of (or noticed!) her fall, maybe he just didn't care.

"Well. I was far too busy walkin' everywhere to think much on kissin'." She responded coolly. She shifted irritably, he was blocking her damn sun!

"Oh yeah, well, I ain't got no wheels. Too busy workin' on 'em." He defended pathetically, scratching his ear and scowling as always.

She just sighed, and closed him off from her sight, lips pursed.

Apparently, he took that as an invitation.

His kiss was hard, and he didn't taste of pleasant smoke, more like that disgusting chew. After the initial surprise though, he gave way to a more passionate motion. It was deep and enthralling, but not so absorbing that she couldn't push him off. He stumbled backwards a few steps, both from her push, and her glare. She had made quite the mistake leading on this old fool, no matter the evolution of the kiss.

"Maybe Evie likes playing tonsil hockey with the likes of you, but I've got a little more class!" She practically spat at him.

"I didn't know we were so disgusting to you Connie." A voice from her peripheral vision deadpanned. Soda had followed her from his post, a distinct slouch of hurt curved his posture (at her words of disdain she supposed).

"Yeah. You were leading me on!" Steve howled gruffly in dejection. Great, so now above being self-centered, frigid, heartless, and a bitch, you could now dock her points for being a tease! Constance stood, regarded them both on either side, and spoke.

"Greasers be greasers. That's what Dallas always says."

And she just walked away.

* * *

Idiot. It was all Two-Bit could think as Steve, Soda, and he exchanged their sordid tales of Constance takes all while smoking on the sunset scene of the Curtis porch swing. And he had supposed it meant something.

* * *

Well played. It was the first thing that came to Steve's mind as Two-Bit relayed his newfound sob story over a cigarette (Soda was so bothered by the whole ordeal even he took a few drags!). She was playing hard to get, and well, he must admit; it was cute.

**[A/N: Two kisses and two (ah lets say at _least_ 4) very confused souls...in one horrid (but _sinfully _fun) to write chapter. Drop me a review if you're clear on what you feel about this story, or if you're confused. Either or I love to hear it!]**


	6. Chapter 6: Stormy

_**Stormy**_

**[A/N: Mild Hiatus=Mild Chapter Expansion. Be patient with me for this is just a lead up chapter to some somber but sweet activities, enjoy the development and bro-mance type interactions with drama falling to a bare minimum. :D or D: ?]**

**[Pardon my French but, _J'adore critiques_****_ :*_]**

It had been three weeks since her last encounter with a Curtis brand greaser. Things had fallen back into place for Constance. Her cuts healed completely, waitressing went back to a solo event (though the amount of butt slapping was significantly decreased), and Dallas was on a hiatus, from visiting that is. It all made it easier for her to feel like she was over it, that her outburst in the parking lot, the public snub, was completely counted for. Even the kisses, both passionate and intertwining (and simultaneously fucking her mind over) were set to the curb by the new guy in her life. A nameless, faceless Soc with strong lips and little to no opinions to contradict Constance's headstrong ways. His name was Kent, perfectly slick, suave, and vacant, even so in appearance with plain handsomeness of dusty shades. The male equivalent of vapidity to Cynthia. Cynthia was also a more present benefactor to her daily routine, considering Patricia was on Randy duty and Donna was either there, or really not. It had become apparent to Constance that Cherry and Donna still got along. Constance never even thought about Cherry anymore, apparently Miss Soc became too uninterested in the middle-class set and their issues to be sought out.

It was quittin' time for Constance that buttery afternoon. She clocked out and begged the kitchen for a crisp walk Coke. More often than not they refused this simple request on the grounds that all the teenage bodies drank the fizz dry as it was, she'd have to water up elsewhere, sorry. It was such the case today when Ronnie, a university dropout from California (involved in the odd 'Beatniks' or 'Children of the Earth') and current fry cook wagged his craggy bearded chin at her in warning and apology.

"It's all good Ron-o, I'll skip up to the DX for my caffeine kicker." She conversed with him, hopping on her skates to be able to rest her elbows on the 'order-up!' counter.

"Aw Connie man, we oughtta fight the man someday. Ain't no good come from rules like this, and me? An enforcer!" He said in his distant rasp. Ronnie was a little ahead of the times for Tulsa. No one knew how he got there, and very few paid heed to his 'gospel of truth'. It was only a stern word from Connie that prevented his being run out of town; she halted all talk of Free Love in the diner –"Now uh, Ronnie…people here in Oklahoma don't take too kindly to anything under the guise of adultery…"-. But all in all, he was harmless and an endless spout of paranoia sparked debates. Constance's favourite 'no-strings-attached' friend.

So she left him too his burger debacle in the kitchen (strangely, he never ate a bite of diner fare, only 'free-range tofu', which wasn't even a thing -not that she could point it out) and skipped almost pleasantly into the cloudless, but less than heat intense sun. She had ditched the diner get-up along with the hard ass waitress attitude for the moment (things were a lot lighter the more people you dropped from your life), and was now sporting a sunflower coloured miniskirt and a same-name flower patterned top. Constance shone with the hues, a soft grin, and a sliver of almost tanned (gasp!) tummy as per the latest fashion. But she kept her rollerblades on, because skipping and blading is quite the feat!

* * *

It was with a merry disposition that Constance tugged her way up the picket lined sidewalk slope to the DX and her Coke saviour. She actually despised carbonated sludge, but needed the buzz, and she sure as hell wasn't going to deign to gas station brew. Blading uphill left her flushed and vaguely clammy, a fair share of fly-always plastered themselves to her wind rouged cheeks as she pushed the scuffed glass door wide for her rolling entrance. She had given no thought whatsoever to the possibility of breaking the three week 'enemy' fast when her vision zoomed into focus past every shelf and display, straight to the back counter and the man who operated it.

Steve Randle was propped elbow up on the lottery ticket desk, flipping through the latest issue of 'Car Craft', a stack of 'Hot Rods' by his side. Constance, being such a brave and noble individual, almost wiped out in her haste to duck behind the chip rack. To her relief, the bell above the hinge and its resounding tinkle had not piqued Steve's interest, nor his attentions. From her clearly secluded hiding spot, Constance brought her noticeably scarring palm to her face. Anyone with any common sense would have snuck out instead of into the proverbial lion's den, unfortunately, she was taking her mood and luck for granted since the last Randle encounter. Subconsciously, she was positive she had known they had worked here, consciously, she had omitted the information. Now she was stuck, destined to live her life evading capture amongst the junk section. Unless of course, she grew a pair.

Constance began her nervous rituals as she straightened her back up from the half kneel, this tradition consisted of picking and tying the evergreen bandana round her wrist into intricate knots while grinding her teeth into her balmy lips and slippery cheek. She grasped the wrought iron rack for cool comfort and released the clench to glide over by the ice box. It would seem even more hilariously stupid if she turned up to pay for nothing. Yanking a Coke from its icy chamber, Constance wished they could trade places, regardless of the short lifespan of a glass bottle in this neighbourhood. It was with weary eyes the she forced herself up to the register and set her purchase by his severe ridged nose with a regrettable 'clink'. His dark, matte gaze snapped up irritably at the interruption, his coarse brows almost lost themselves in his oiled back hairline once he recognized the features.

* * *

"15 cents." He said brusquely after getting over his surprise. The only way to retaliate with hard to get girls was to play a hard to get guy. His offhandedness had the desired effect, Constance felt bad.

"Steve, I…" She started to apologize.

"A dime and a nickel doll. Too hard to figure?" He sneered from behind his mag, laying it on thick. Constance lost all sympathy with his brush off, it ignited her short fuse something fierce when people interrupted an apology.

"You sick son-of-a-bitch. Take your cents and shove it." She growled pitching some change into his lap and spinning to leave. This swing of moods jolted Steve. Not a shock that all his wiles were a dud on this broad, much anyways.

He sat back down from his leapt stance. This woman was insufferable, and she was only a girl! Too much to handle in way of romantic appeal, and with that mouth maybe she was out for playing hard to get. Her affections shifted with the wind and brought one hell of a storm. This was proved once again as she faced back at him, one hand on the door.

"Do you think we can both quit the tricks and hang or somethin'? I think we're both too versed in winning a steady to fit into a pair, but that means we do have something in common. Friends, or all bets are off for us gettin' along." Constance said with thin hesitation and thick frustration. Hesitation but not a tremor of doubt, if anyone could be friends it was these two ice queens.

* * *

So hangout they did, both finding more than a match in their views on love and friendship. He was a lot like Patricia, more brooding and prickly to be sure, but perhaps Constance could make them for each other considering they weren't yet against. A squinty kid came in shortly after their altercation to handle the counter.

Steve took this as an opportunity to move the conversation out and into the garage.

* * *

The rusty cement floor felt good underneath Constance's wheels, taking the chance out of her working environment to test out some rollerblading skits. This was where she and Steve differed greatly. He had a one track mind (: the task in front of him) while she had a train station of courses and distractions. This fact shone as new pal Steve tried to learn her in the ways of mechanics. She didn't know a lick about them - besides which way the key turned to get it going and how to make it to a station before you ran pure out of juice-, and she was perfectly fine with that. After many hours of this while-away, it was nearing supper time and a new shift awaited her. Oh how time flew when she had some open ground to skate on and the constant drone about transmission or some such filling her ears. So she took her leave, they were on good terms now and though that was not vitally important to her, she appreciated his effort.

* * *

While Constance faced yet another swing in the salt mines, Two-Bit and a fair fraction of the Curtis band partook in a little late-night poker. Busting about in the screened out sun room hanging off the side of the brother's house sat the usual characters; Steve (with a sleeve full of face cards), Soda (his sock stuffed with sevens and twos, for whatever reason), Johnny (with by far the most sizeable pile of winnings, enough cigarettes for at least a week of Pony's smoking habits), Dallas (playing fair as could be, despite the help his horrible poker face needed), and Pony (desperately trying to win back some of his smokes, boy did he need one). This was how they willed away the hours when it was too sticky to be out, and too tiring to seek other refuge.

It was when Johnny laid his third straight flush of the evening that you could really grasp the skill level of the group, Two-Bit just shook his head and took it in. It seemed he was the only mediocre one; Steve had shitty hands, but was a phenomenal cheater. Soda had decent hands, but was a horrible cheater who couldn't quite grasp the concept of Texas Hold 'em ("We're in Oklahoma for god's sake"). Johnny had the best hands, and could bluff a man under the table. Dallas had great hands, but as soon as he knew it, so did you. And Pony, well poor Pone had the skill of Soda, the luck of Steve, and none of the good use common sense that Darry employed when he felt up to play. Two-Bit on the other hand was well-rounded, he was always laughing no matter his situation and could spin a fuck-all hand into something respectable. The only problem was, he could never shy away from a raised bet.

Despite all sucking to some degree, they surpassed the bitterness of a faulty 'all in' to have some of their more rousing conversations. The current topic was who could survive the Vietnamese jungle lands, should there ever be a draft.

"I don't wanna be drafted." Muttered Johnny to his two-pair hand.

"They couldn't take me if they tried." Pony and Dallas stated at the same instance, to varying degrees of effectiveness.

"They wouldn't wanna take you Mr. Track-Star, or should I say…Captain Black-Lung!" Snorted Two-Bit. That kid wouldn't get through basic training without breaking cigarette ration. Everyone chuckled, they knew it-Pony knew it.

"They ain't gonna pull a draft, war'll be over long before then. You can lay bets on me if you want." Soda piped up with one hand in his shoe.

Then the conversation took a turn, a turn for what hadn't been mentioned in three weeks of similar socializing.

"Hey Dall, how's Connie doing? She took a bit of a tumble…she heal up all right?" Johnny inquired as he raised the stakes, flicking six cigarettes, one-by-one, into the pathetic wagers. Dallas stopped cutting the deck for a second, a hesitation.

"I wouldn't know, ain't seen her since I heard she went and macked it up with two buddies o' mine. Don't want to either. Fucking falling off a building for god's sake. Man, you guys are done with her, you hear?" He said with a fold.

There were nods all-round the table for each player's personal beef. Two-Bit for the so very un called for kiss, Soda for the comment (though he was quite over it, and would happily hang with her should she present herself), Steve for no reason except that maybe their friendship was too taboo to bring up, Johnny to suit Dally, and Pony because, well, Socs would do him no favours. Surely if Darry were not on the porch with the company of a drink and his challenges, he too would have bobbed his head in agreement, if only for the feeling of impending trouble and the possibility she was the source.

Dallas's rule was broken across the board (only thrice-wise on purpose) the following day.

* * *

Constance was walking the blocks to the diner with dearest Cynthia, for alas, a shift together! It was a long time coming, but perhaps not the best idea for progressive work ethic. In each other's company, they clutched hands and slow waltzed the entire way, a tuneless Buddy Holly whistle accentuated their lazy silliness. Say what you will about Cynthia (dumb; that was the main complaint), she was a hell of a good time –and friend. This was what made Cynthia her best friend, and best friend was not a loose term by Constance. Of all the casual acquaintances, the best friend was a cumulative term for three phenomenal gals: Patricia, Donna, and Cynthia. Constance was always hesitant about including Cherry - call it an intuition-, but she forever regarded Cynthia as the good time.

Here she was now with her peroxide shade kinky-curls piled atop her glowing rodeo-bunny tanned head, her lips glossy with cotton candy coloured greasepaint, and sapphire eyes smouldering underneath metallic black kohl. She wore her uniform looser on her athletic B-cup form of 5"2 and the buttons lower. Just now she was lamenting to Constance about her envy on the high number C-cup hourglass figure of her two and a half inch taller friend.

"Shape! It's what you've got. All I'm packin' is the hips of a twelve year-old boy…" She carped in her off center tone, as if to accentuate the unfairness of it all.

Constance waved it off.

"You know I'm jealous of you too, right? Let's face it, we're all hostile." Constance stated, and meant it. "Let's just put it behind us and da-ance baby." She crooned pulling Cynthia into the twist. Cynthia popped her head back and pursed for a final, shrill, one-note whistle. The two erupted into giggles as their diner entrance was made via raunchy 50s shuffle.

"Connie, hun." Cynthia started, tugging on the brittle blonde strand dangling from Constance's messy up-do (today the bandana matched Cynthia's lips, quite by accident) that had made its debut nearly a month previous. "My practical blood-brother o' hair, you oughtta get yourself a ma-an."

"I've got one, that nice guy I've been chummin' 'round with lately -" She started to defend, it was hurtful to her reputation to be dowdy and without a guy. Cynthia interrupted with a fresh peal of giggles.

"The fact that I ain't even remember his name means he ain't worth the title. I'm not even solid that you know it!" She gasped out with jagged breaths that were far too loud and dramatic. Constance became indignant. If this was causing half a scene for the diner patrons, she'd have that curly blonde head on a platter!

"Of course I know! KENT is a perfectly nice boy, and you'd like him just fine if you paid attention when he was tryin' to talk to ya." She said all matter-of-fact, her arms crossed as a physical punctuation.

"That's right, 'a perfectly nice BOY. I was sayin' you be needin' a MAN. You've had your fair share of boys." Cynthia debated in the same know-it-all tone Constance had just employed. That quirky smirk her fluorescent pink mouth conjured forced her to dodge a vengeance filled (hypocritical) swipe. Constance had just about backed her cheeky counterpart into a booth when she was pointed past. "There. There is a man, Constance, and I bet he wouldn't mind takin' the place of Clark." She said, jutting out an acrylic extended finger.

"It's Kent. Not Clark." Constance grumbled before grudgingly turning to peek at her 'man'.

There sat Two-Bit, at the bar-counter, gawking at her backside while his companion, Sodapop, continued to blab as if he held attention.

"You jokin' or something, Cynthia? You gotta be jokin' 'bout this clown." She said. Up to that point she had as much as given up on ever seeing that boy again, much less taking him on as her 'man'. It stings a little to kiss two boys in one breath, makes you question your decency like your grandmother would. It was a storm brewing in lil' ole Constance, that quirky waitress who could make anyone smitten, a raging hurricane of doubts. She doubted herself and all others to the point where hope tore her apart. Manic to the core, mocking on the surface. So disconnected were the feelings inside and the passing moods displayed that she could just chuckle sardonically at the very guy who made her second-guess her respectability.

"I came for a Coke and I got a Constance." He said in that snarky drawl, lone eyebrow at its station: a foot above the other.

Soda just sighed, keying in to the conversational hazards.

Gawd the tension.

* * *

It had been for three steady weeks that Soda had endured Steve half-heartedly crack open-ended remarks about Constance's 'so-hard-pressed-coal-it's-a-diamond heart' (as dubbed by Two-Bit). For example: "That dame has probably had more men than the army recruitment office! AmIRight?"

Normally Soda would have stood up for a girl's reputation, but Dally got spittin' mad enough for any who took offence. He would pin Steve to the wall at any mention of Constance and Men in the same strand. Darry just shook his head and told them to shut up about her. In a late-night brother discussion, Darrel had made it clear his opinion: Dallas had his reasons for holing her up from this rival business, the boys were the least of it. Soda agreed, Pony on the other hand, denied it credibility.

"She'd have liked us all real good, if Steve hadn't pushed her into the Soc state o' mind." He breathed in that pleading way, that kid sure as hell wanted her respect. Maybe he needed it, he was being scorned an awful lot of late. But Darry demanded distance, ("Dallas is insistent, and he ain't wrong."). So abide, abide, abide.

Now sitting with Two-Bit, evened on stool height, Sodapop realized he hadn't abided at all. Quite the opposite. But then again, it was Soda characteristic to understand an order as something that didn't apply to him directly. Surely Dallas could see no harm in him and Two-Bit within shaking space of Connie, they had no ulterior motives or ill will about them. Two easy-going guys, one slightly scornful, who at worst could make her snort, but then, her fault for being too uptight.

And snort she did.

"You two know I work here loud n clear. I guess you just couldn't stay away." She plighted. Her skirt swished around her knees as she started fishtailing on her blades, an amused tic.

Soda just grinned at her and did a suave wink (to her an amused tic of his own!), he liked her hair like that all messy off her neck, cut through with the pink cloth, and the way her black, netted eyelashes framed the unidentifiable-from-this-light iris tint. That streak even added to the cute beauty. He understood why Dallas would keep her away, a looker like this could cause a rumble should she pick and choose. He could sense Two-Bit thought it too, but he would horde that information for later ammo.

As she breathed the word 'away' with her smirk and eyebrows up, she moved backward, skates freshly applied, in the same twisty movement she had just been twitching with. Her hips dipped from side to side, hypnotic.

Her blonde friend smile sighed and said her name like it was a mantra: three times for charm. Soda could understand that, being around the aura of Connie was enough to make a religion.

* * *

As anyone could grasp within an hour of Cynthia's acquaintance, that girl loved to complain. The morning breakfast bummer had ended, leaving Cynthia impatient, and Constance in good spirits. Cynthia always regarded a shift without a proposed date a waste and Constance was just glad she was there to alleviate greaser affections. It left her feeling lighter, and a little more 'pure'.

The two had changed from diner drag into their day outfits. Cynthia had tied a wispy burgundy plaid shirt just below the breast, and paired it with a white leather fringe mini. Her hair was released from its pen constraint (a trick Constance performed as a favour) and was now finger combed into bouncy waves with the aid of the hot air hand-drier in the bathroom (a feat all her own). Constance went for a more relaxed feel, too appeased by the glorious lazy Wednesday to go for the golden standard of fashion. Her hair was still in a sleek heap, the bandana was still in place, and her attitude was still joking, making the only change from dress to dress. Starchy uniform buttons to interesting jean overall number, a classic monochrome polka dot top teasing with its cut wallowed underneath whilst hiding a pink brassiere. Anyways, Cynthia was on the moan and Constance was trying to snap along to the Everly Brothers rockabilly-ing her brain.

The stroll continued away from one fine establishment, to one more worthy of Cynthia's griping. The Dingo was where they arrived, a circular haven for the teenage dirt bag. It was a stout joint, almost cylindrical in appearance. It had a pale blue coat over a wood panel structure and expansive windows wrapping around the whole deal. The white, red, and blue sign blinked like a Vegas casino, three bulbs dead out of seventeen. The windows gave a hint to the whole setup, big white glossy counter shaped like spilt milk taking up the far wall, similarly formed tables crammed throughout. A jukebox blared in the corner (god, Constance thought, they should really require a licence for owning dimes) with some drippy swine gargle of a disgraced country star. Over it crowded girls in cute sweaters, and guys in letter jackets. Towards the other end fell in chicks with tight pencil skirts, and hoods with white t-shirts. A fight broke out here nearly every hour, Constance couldn't pretend not to enjoy them. But alas, she did prefer the drive-thru option where you set up your car with a neat little tray, let the food come to you by way of her fellow breed of roller-blading waitress, and take off. Little to no maddening social aspect required.

Today though, they went in, as unfortunate as it was, neither of them had a car for their own. Cynthia loved to drive, convertibles with the tops rolled down for drag racing and beat up pickup trucks for cruising tall. Constance was a nervous wreck at the wheel, sometimes her uncle let her borrow his work truck, but she hated the responsibility that came with the beast. Not money enough did either girl possess for one, making the vehicle ownership fall upon the beau of the week. So it goes. Being alone, in was the only option for food. If food was what they came for. Constance was actually here to meet someone, a certain Steve.

"Hey Connie…and friend." Steve whistled all slick. He had his hands in his pockets, talking down to the poor stiff flipping patties on the grill he leaned up against.

"Steve. This is Cynthia." She said nodding once to him and then again to Cynthia.

"I'm glad you two dolls could make a space to hang. Ol' Dally-Cat forbids us even lookin' at ya, makes it all the more temptin'." He said. He actually looked quite pleased with his little act of rebellion.

"Um, Constance, how ya been? I don't mean to brush you off like I do, honest." A small voice came from behind her, that last part was murmured, just for her. Ponyboy. She spun on her toes to face him, amused by the fact that she had to look up.

"I been just grand Pony. I've been needin' a break from my brother is all, savvy? More like he wants apart from ME, you did too and I get it just fine." She said, a genuine smile playing her lips. "You've gotten taller though by gawd! For a runt, you sure show me up some!"

He blushed a little and did that cute huff between his lips, but dimples were deepening at her words.

"Hell, I'm only a year younger I bet. You just look old." He said, making tough and mocking. He even flicked her blonde streak (white in the grotesque hall lighting) with a playful smirk.

"Shut up Pone! You are a real deal RUNT. And a tag along to boot." Steve crowed, cringing over the girls giggles. Pony, who would have usually taken offense, just rolled his eyes. It was clear he had mustered some pride off of the girls' acceptance.

It was still unclear to Constance as to why the guy, guyS, had wanted to meet in the first place. But that was a question that wouldn't be answered within the time it took to down a malt. Apparently when Steve said hangout he meant hangout. Refreshing, considering his taste for ulterior motives.

* * *

Ponyboy felt awkward across from Constance, but he also felt he was showing himself up as pretty tuff. The more Steve reassured him ('She ain't no damn Soc, so you can put that out of your underdeveloped brain.') and the more he talked to her, the less afraid he was that she would turn. Just like the guys had on the sidewalk, strolling as friends, parting as polar opposites. He swirled his straw around his Pepsi glass while glimpsing at her, the best time to look at someone was when their attentions were elsewhere. She was gorgeous in every sense of the word, but not tacky like her friend. Her friend was nice and pretty too though, just a little ditzy like Steve and saccharine sweet like no one he had ever met. A lot to take in.

"Does Dallas talk much about me?" Constance asked, turning back to him from her words with Cynthia (seated at the table next to them with Steve). He flushed. Though she hadn't necessarily called him out on it, he knew she had caught him staring.

"He managed to stay off that subject for 8 years, he hasn't had any trouble pickin' up where he left off." He answered her, quirking his mouth at the sides to soften the harsh truth. Well, most of the truth. He HAD left out the debates about her dignity.

"Oh, well, better than him yellin' at me like he tends to do to just about everyone." She said, a little crestfallen, but returning his expression.

Pony pushed his glass of pop from him, still predominately full, as he rose. This Pepsi was in a frosted glass, fizzy and crisp. He preferred his cola warm and syrupy, none of that itchy carbonation.

"You want me to walk you guys home? Steve has to head back to the DX, but my schedules clear." He said, palms flat on the table. Her eyebrows rose, surprised at his uncharacteristic advances, but her olive eyes glittered in good spirits.

"I'm afraid Cynthia can't join us," She started. Ponyboy silently thanked his luck. She was too loud even when she wasn't speaking to him, walking was supposed to be peaceful. "She has to get back to work for the lunch shift. But I could use good company, you seem like good company anyhow."

"I'll walk Cynthia to the diner on my way to the shop, ain't gonna do her no favours to walk alone." Steve said touching Cynthia's waist. When he turned to pay the bill, Cynthia stuck out her tongue in a gagging motion. Respect for her taste filled Ponyboy.

Maybe she wasn't as subtle as Constance, but potency has its charms.

* * *

"Believe it or not, we aren't together all the time…" Pony said to her with his eyebrows raised and his expression sarcastic. She backtracked quickly.

"Of course not, I mean, surely going to the bathroom like that would be difficult." That got the desired laugh, crackly with the changes of the age. "But you're all so…" She started gesturing to the air in a charade tandem, unable to find a word as unique as their brand of unity.

"Brotherly?" He filled in like a question. He turned to her, humorous with his smile. His hands were firm in his pockets. Strange. He never had to search for the words.

She nodded vigorously. They were so very brotherly, the whole of the gang more so than the brothers themselves. It was why she had assumed her having dinner at the Curtis's would be one guest FAR too many when Pony had asked her to take part.

"It'll just be the real brothers this time, unless one of those delinquent NON-relatives butts in." Pony assured her as they walked together, having just left the Dingo.

"That's what I'm 'fraid of." She said with a poignant guffaw. Constance, though content with all, could not willingly place herself in a situation containing Dallas or Two-Bit. She was a degree towards socially awkward. People who hated her made her hate people.

"C'mon…, I think Soda's cookin' tonight. It should be plenty interestin'…have you ever heard about the GREEN pancakes?" Ponyboy began with obvious joy in remembering. She had heard about the green pancakes from Dallas, though names were not named. But Pony looked so innocent and confident, she let him launch right in, laughing at all the parts she had previously chuckled at. Genuine during both tellings.

When Johnny slid into their stride ("I'm goin' against Dally here, but I 'spect you won't be a blabbin' considerin' I came to check up on ya.") they all laughed together. So the walk whiled away pleasantly, their shadows falling behind them. On the closest side to the street, the tallest, loping member. In the middle, just a mite bit shorter, the girl whose hair swung down her back, given to the winds. On the inside, the kindest, slouchiest greaser in Tulsa.

What a trio they did make.

* * *

**[A/N: Oh Sunny, Sunny, Sunny, Sunny Dayyyyysss...but for how long will tensions be placed on the back burner? Favourite and/or Follow to be warned that, yes, I do live and I will write on! _Remember: Criticisms, Witticisms, Love, Hate, Requests, Questions_...my appreciation for even a view knows no bounds :')]**


	7. UPDATE

UPDATE? Not quite. Here's an author's note for the 4 people who favourite my story and whoever else tunes in: I'm taking an extended holiday from fanfiction to pursue my own characters and my own universe. I may update in a few weeks, months, or whenever…but it will be VERY irregular.

Don't be misguided, this is not a story being held for ransom. Even if I get 20 reviews in 20 minutes, I will not update until the inspiration strikes me to write a new chapter. I appreciate those who did follow, favourite, and review, if there were more of you early on… well, no one can really say, but things may have been different.


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